There and Back Again (was 100 Drabble Challenge)
by Levade
Summary: I changed the title of this since only a few of the pieces were actually drabbles and I didn't entirely follow NirCele's prompt list. They're more very short stories that don't belong anywhere else. First up, "fire" and what could be a continuation from my story "Malaise". CH. 41 a little moment from "Fields of Gold".
1. Chapter 1 Fire

_Found myself with extra time and decided to join in the 100 Prompt Drabble Challenge that NicCele and Lady Lindariel started. Hey, come join in the fun! Spread the word - you can find links to all those participating, and their wonderful drabbles, on NirCele's profile. Ladies, thank you! It's a pleasure to join in with so many talented writers. :D This is too long to really be a drabble. I clock it at 500 words, just squeaking under the challenge guidelines. Could be considered part of the story "Malaise" comes from. Set on the plains of Orodruin, after the One Ring rode off with the unfortunate Isildur..._

 **Fire**

* * *

"Give me my sword!"

"No."

The wash of fire and fury swept his veins, igniting wrath he had never felt. "Give. Me. My. Sword."

Deadly calm. Deathly earnest.

Met with the implacable, immovable. "No." Blue eyes gentle, the blood-stained captain adamant. "You are not yourself."

It was not the first time, but by the stars it would be the last. He stepped closer, invading, pushing boundaries, sick, oh so sick. "Who am I then." Looked deep into the blue eyes, seeing the dance of light long gone from Arda, deeper to the darkness of death and the rise from the ashes.

"You are son, brother, orphan, survivor, herald. Friend. One who lost much, too much and one I will not see stain his hands with the blood of kin."

"He is lost to the Ring! Maddened!" He used his anger to shove against the broad chest and bared his teeth in satisfaction as Glorfindel staggered back a step. "I should have thrown him in, but now I cannot see him ride off with that abomination!"

There was a sword at his side, very near Elrond's hand. Círdan, watching but holding all others back, held a sword. Glorfindel took back that step, and unbuckled the sword from his side. "Then use my sword."

"I would not-"

"No? Think you above the ring's lure? You, who have been stripped of father and mother, of twin and those who would be like a father. You to whom, even now, others look to take up the mantle of High King, to lead your people to their former glory." Glorfindel lowered his voice. "Can you deny you have longed for its fire to kindle your weary heart?"

Elrond had seen it there on the cusp of the crater. One sweep of his sword and the ring would be his, the fire would be his, the power to save his people. His.

"Take it. Ride him down. Cut it from his hand. Kill him." Glorfindel shoved the sword against Elrond's chest. "Then I shall weep as I kill you."

Shock widened the grey eyes and Elrond stepped back. There was cold resolve in Glorfindel's eyes that doused the fire raging in his heart.

"I will not see you with that ring on your hand, Elrond Eärendilion."

"We cannot do naught." Elrond rallied his resolve, still uneasy with the cool flame in the blue eyes. "Isildur must be stopped!"

Lowering the sword, Glorfindel shook his head. "The ring will be his doom, Elrond."

He looked to the volcano, still smoldering, still seething with enough fire to melt the grief of them all. "I should have thrown him in."

"You aren't a kin-slayer."

"Enough. Disperse!" Círdan barked the order as he turned to men and elves who had gathered to watch the commotion. "See to the wounded!"

"Glorfind-"

"Go. Rest." Glorfindel met his gaze and held it. "Let us bear Gil-galad to his tent, Elrond."

A glance to the fire-burnt form, his king, his friend. Elrond turned away.

* * *

 _All mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2 Pet

_If you've never read DragonConfused's story "The Littlest Balrog", then go read it. It's old but one of the most unique looks at Melkor and "his boys" ever written. This might make sense without reading it, but if dark humor is your cuppa, go. Read. Dragon, I miss you! This is in tribute to that story. It's dark humor, so be warned._

* * *

 **Pet**

He had wanted one forever. But Melkor had refused after the debacle with Maedhros, and so Gothmog had to content himself with imagining a pet.

There wasn't much to choose from in Angband. Dragons weren't fun. They hoarded their toys and confused everyone with word games. Orcs were fun and usually willing to do whatever he wanted, but never lived long.

They were tasty.

These days his brothers were more interested in seeing who could crack a whip loudest or send the stalactites crashing down to kill as many thralls as possible. Gothmog missed the egg frying contests they had held as younglings. He bet he could fry up an entire flock of chickens now!

It was great fun to go out and stomp elves. They reminded him of lightning bugs, all bright and glowy as they ran around screaming. But Melkor hated them and had forbade Gothmog to keep even a small one as a pet. He'd been told, _Thralls are not pets. You cannot take them out and play with them, Gomig. Leave Melkor's thralls alone!_

As if Maedhros' escape was his fault.

Puffing a cloud of smoke, Gothmog stomped off to find his weapons. Let the others have their stupid whips. He wanted something different. Something better than a sword (hadn't done Fingon much good, had it) and had gotten an idea from that last battle. Down to the cavern where he and his brothers wrestled, past the thralls, to his room.

Chuckling darkly as he imagined what he could do, Gothmog turned the spear in his hands. It had potential! He could spear an entire platoon and then fling them back at their own forces! Pretending to be surrounded, Gothmog crouched and bared his fangs, roaring. He thrust the spear and spun, leaping around the room.

"GOTHMOG!"

Startled, the balrog stumbled and barely kept from impaling himself. He quickly shoved the spear behind him and turned his best beastly scowl to Melkor.

"You're going to kill yourself with that thing, Gomig." Melkor shook his head in exasperation. "Put it away and join your brothers." The dark lord's smile was awful and gave the balrog delightful shivers. "We've found Gondolin. We attack tonight."

A roar of glee and Gothmog ran to join his brothers, shoving past the dragons and carelessly crushing a company of orcs. The spear was tossed aside, forgotten.

At last, Gondolin would fall.

* * *

 _Hopefully you know Gothmog's deeds and how he died. Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3 Transportation

_One hundred words exactly! Hey, who knew I could do that? ;) Vingilot is Eärendil's ship, and for those of you unfamiliar with The Silmarillion, the vial of light Galadriel gave Frodo? That was the light of Eärendil. He sails_ _Vingilótë, his ship, with one of the Silmarils bound to his brow, to keep watch over Morgoth who is trapped in the Void. The elves, upon seeing him in the sky, named him Gil-estel, "Star of hope". He is Elrond's father and one of my favorite characters._

* * *

 _ **Transportation**_

Vingilótë is hallowed, glowing in the light of the moon. She is more beautiful now than any ship.

I am loath to set foot aboard her. This burden weighs heavy on my shoulders, bright upon my brow. Have I chosen rightly?

I left my wife and infant sons to gain help from Valinor.

I gave my mortality to remain with my wife.

I leave my life now, all that I have known, to take up vigil.

Gil-estel. It is a heavy thing, this hope.

"Cast off the anchor ropes! Raise the sails!" Vingilótë floats and we sail into the sky.


	4. Chapter 4 Plants

_This one stumped me for a while. Thank you, EverleighBain for pointing out that weeds are indeed plants! :D_

* * *

 **Plants**

It was tenacious, roots buried deep in the dark soil, probably coiled around the other plants like a nasty snake! Tugging with all her strength, Elanor squeaked in surprise when the weed suddenly gave up the fight and let go. She landed on her behind with a grunt.

"You all right, sweet-pea?" Sam helped his daughter stand and smiled. "That one was strong!"

Shoving golden curls back with a grimy hand, the little girl nodded. "Da, why aren't all plants pretty or good to eat? Why are some weeds?"

"Weeds are what we don't want growin' here." Kneeling, he pointed to a cluster of plants. "What's that one?"

"Kingsfoil. Gramps says it's a fool's plant and no good."

"Ah, well. Some plants look like weeds, all grubby and like you can't trust 'em to be a decent plant." Sam plucked a leaf and brought it to his nose. The scent was strong. That was what made his eyes water a bit. Nothin' else. Putting an arm around his daughter, his sunny-haired girl, Sam kissed her forehead. "Sometimes you gotta let 'em grow a bit, see what's really there. Might surprise you."

Elanor wrinkled her nose. "A good surprise?"

"The best."


	5. Chapter 5 Threats

_Thank you all for the encouragement! This is more fun than I expected. Thanks to EverleighBain for ...so much. But mostly for making me braver. :)_

* * *

 **Threats**

"Which is worse, a threat or the actual attack?"

Boromir scoffed. "The attack, of course."

The tutor looked to the younger brother. Quiet, more given to introspection, Faramir often took the longer view of things.

"Threat," Faramir answered softly. "For threats give rise to fear, which can run rampant like fire in a wind storm." The boy shook his head. "There is little time to think when attacked directly. A wise enemy spreads dissent and divides the strength of a foe before ever making a single move." Ducking his head, Faramir shrugged a shoulder. "Or so it seems to me."

A smile of approval and the tutor turned to Boromir. "Do you wish to counter Faramir's statement?"

Taking a long moment, Boromir considered his brother's words before speaking. "To strike fear in an enemy's heart before exchanging a single blow, that is a powerful thing," he said, and met his brother's uncertain gaze. "I see that sometimes a silent threat, an asset overlooked by most, is also a great advantage."

Faramir flushed. "I am no threat, brother."

"Because you are loyal and your heart is true." Boromir squeezed his brother's shoulder. "I am glad you are on my side, Faramir!"


	6. Chapter 6 Water

_Thank you for the wonderful reviews! Right to the limit at 500 words. Phew._

* * *

 **Water**

"Fine! Come back!" Annoyed, Elladan was done lecturing his fool brother, balanced on the rope.

Elrohir grinned and stuck out his tongue.

The wind gusted and pushed.

He fell, Elladan's scream echoing in his ears, and hit the end of the safety rope with a grunt. Elrohir dangled above Ulmo's Beard, the Bruinen frothing white against the rocks below, spinning above the water. The rope was slippery against his aching hands, slippery against his frantic grabs.

Elladan was running, fast along the path, for the house. As he spun around, Elrohir suddenly felt giddy. He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes, laughing as the brume from the falls caressed his face. He was flying!

Giddiness turned to terror as the wind reversed and tossed him up like a leaf, swirling, twirling and suddenly spinning was not fun. The rope slid down his waist, down his thighs, chafing across wet fabric, gaining no traction.

"ELROHIR!"

The bellow carried over the wind, the full-throated roar of the falls that shimmered in the misty air, and the crashing cacophony of water hitting rocks.

He would hit those same rocks. A wail that was not the wind rose from the child at the end of the umbilical rope, tangled on the ankle of a boot.

The rope bounced and Elrohir saw there was a figure on top of the rope stretched taut across the falls. Was Elladan crazy enough to -

"Elrohir, hold as still as you can!"

He almost cried. Of course. Adar was going to kill them all.

If they survived.

Wind gusted against him again, pushing him, spinning, tenuous hold of rope slipping, sliding.

The water was closer. Could he angle to not hit the family of rocks that crouched amidst the water crashing against them at the bottom of the falls? He had nothing to lose by trying. Naneth had taught them how to dive, clean and straight, even from a height, but she had forbidden them from -

The rope slipped. Another shift of wind, gusting the water against him.

His boot tumbled past, end over end. It hit the rocks and was swallowed by the frothing boil of water. Elrohir stared for a moment before realizing he had been caught and held by his ankle. He was dangling. Dangling high above Ulmo's Beard, held by an unyielding grasp. Fingers dug hard against the bone.

Had he ever welcomed pain so happily before?

It was slow progress, inching back along that rope, until familiar hands grabbed him, pulled him close, too close, too tight and he was crying into the strong shoulder of his father, held by the arms of his mother and brother.

"If you ever do such a bone-headed thing again, child..." Glorfindel was pale, even his lips bloodless as he knelt to meet Elrohir's gaze.

"I won't." The water pushed a small boot along. It bobbed for a moment on the surface before disappearing into the boiling whirlpool between boulders. "I swear, I won't!"


	7. Chapter 7 Wind

_This is for Nilmandra who knows the yearning for far green shores, a longing I share. Duw bu efo gydach chi._

* * *

 **Wind**

"There it is!" Galadriel pointed to the glittering path rising before them.

Wind filled the sails and Bilbo leaned so far forward Frodo grabbed his coat to keep him from tipping over the side of the ship. "You cannot out-race the wind, Bilbo," he laughed.

"Ah, Frodo-lad," Bilbo closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sea breeze, smiling. "We are off on an adventure where none of our kind has ever been!"

Home was long behind, and Frodo felt a twinge of sadness. He could only nod as the wind kissed his cheek and stole the tears away.


	8. Chapter 8 Fellow Sufferer

_Going in order is all well and fine but my brain doesn't like to play that way. ;) Jumped waaay down to finish this one._

 _Dedicated to all the vets and their families, and to those who, even now, have lives ruined by war._

* * *

 **Fellow Sufferer**

I see him every mornin' when we go to the market. Ma, she says he's worthless, just sittin' and scribblin' all day. She sniffs and walks past, but I like to hang behind and wait until Ma is hagglin' over the fish afore I go and see what he's done today. He told me he was once a proud man. A soldier! Fought in the Great War, he did. Right out there, below the city. Said all o' his mates are dead, buried out there. Don't seem right to me. I know the mounds are there. Ma takes all us littles down every year to stand afore the mounds while the king tells us all never to forget.

Hard to forget when there are folk like the scribbler here. He lost a leg in the war. Lost it and got lost, he told me. Said a man with only one leg ain't no good.

I gotta wonder about that though. See, he draws the most amazin' things. Now maybe you're thinkin' what's a cripple gonna draw, but you'd be wrong. Dead wrong! He saw the sea once, the real sea. Not just this river we got. Said it stretched out as far as he could see and he reckoned a bit more beyond that!

I wanna see that someday.

Ma says a man needs more than just a useless hobby. He needs... Well, I don't recall the word. But she don't care much for scribbler.

I like him. He talks about things I wanna do someday. An' he draws them.

I sneak scribbler food. Ma don't know and I reckon what she don't know won't hurt her. I hide it in my pocket and then every mornin' set it there next to him while he draws. I asked him once to tell me. About the war, I mean, but scribbler, he shook his head and tol' me to get on back to Ma.

See, I reckon it ain't right for a soldier like scribbler to be sleepin' out on the streets where the rats can get to him. Without him and his mates fightin' ...well, we might all be out on the streets ourselves, right?

But no one listens to me. Maybe that's why I like scribbler. He an' me, we ain't so different. The war took my da, and the war took his leg.

Ain't nothin' fair about war.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading! Love to hear from you :)_


	9. Chapter 9 On the Brink

_Trying something new (for me). I'm going to see if I can keep a story going through prompts this week. I ran out of time to write a Halloween story, so we'll see if it works this way._

 **On the Brink**

* * *

"They bring ill tidings."

"My Lord?" I was young yet, untried, proud to have been chosen to guard the Orfalch Echor. I was part of the Dark Guard, those who held the First Gate. He was my captain, and Warden of the Great Gate of Steel, the last of the gates that guarded the hidden way to Gondolin. None entered Gondolin but at Ecthelion's command.

Fair of face but grim that night, as if expecting some great evil to befall us, Ecthelion looked up to the Echoriath, the ring of towering mountains that encircled our city. "The winds, Elemmakil. Do you hear them?"

How could I not? It was a bitter night and the winds howled through the mountains, bringing snow and ice and a cold that sank jaws into my bones. "Aye, milord."

He stood in but a light cloak, as if the bitter cold barely touched him. Silver gaze distant, Ecthelion grimaced as the wind shrieked through the gate and set it rattling as if hands were trying to batter it down. "They died on the Helcaraxë, swallowed alive before anyone could do ought to save them." The Aman-bright gaze, touched by the light of the Two Trees, fell on me and I shivered. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the battering on the gate and the howling wind. "Do not open the gate, Elemmakil. Never on a full moon when the dead walk the dark way."

I was young then and some would say foolish, but there was something in his eyes that told me he was not fooling. It was not in Ecthelion's nature to tease his men like some of the older elves were wont. "I...I will not, sir."

Ithil is again full tonight.

The Black Gate will stay closed.


	10. Chapter 10 Falling

**Prompt: Falling**

* * *

"There's a sight that I never weary of."

I smile and nod, happy to see the walls of our white city looming above us as we ride. Ahead, I see Ecthelion suddenly jerk in his saddle as if something struck him and I tell my companions to continue on without me. As soon as they are well past, I ride up next to him where he has stopped and is staring. Eyes wide, he is paler than normal and I shift in my saddle, hoping to gain his attention. "Captain?"

Ecthelion shakes his head. "Do you see it or is it some trick of the light?"

He has been odd ever since returning from the Nirnaeth. We were all changed, all touched, but Ecthelion... He came back fearsome and fey, and his gaze is hard to hold; it seems to penetrate the very depth of a soul. "What do you see, milord?"

Covering his eyes, Ecthelion shakes his head. "Elemmakil, truly you see nothing?"

Because he is my captain, one I would follow and one I have followed to the pit of anguish and back, I look again. I jump when he grips my shoulder.

Sorrow. I have seen such sorrow before. So many died in the Nirnaeth and we... We had to tell their families. Ecthelion would not post the lists on a wall as some did but insisted on going to each and every household. He looks now as he did then. Gaunt and grey, silver eyes haunted by the specter of horror. "Captain, what do you see?" Curse my curiosity, but I must know. If his mind is breaking... No. No!

He shakes his head again and meets my gaze. "Memory. You were but a child when we threw him from the walls." A grimace and Ecthelion rubs his eyes. "I hear his voice cursing his son, cursing us all as he falls. As he hits the rocks."

I am not sorry I have no memory of this. "Ecthelion." I lean over and grip his shoulder. It is presumptuous, but I can't stand to see him this way. "Let us go into the city. You need to rest, milord."

A wry smile quirks his mouth. "I'm not crazy, Elemmakil."

I don't answer hastily - that would only make him think I'm trying to placate him. Looking him in the eye, I answer, "No, sir. You're not. But you are tired."

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

It is an odd question. Men believe in ghosts of their dead who come back to haunt them. "If you mean the houseless, then yes."

"I doubt Eöl would go to Mandos." He nudges his horse and I fall in beside him, riding toward the city. "Perhaps that is what troubles Maeglin."

It gives me a shiver to even think about. What father would chose to be houseless so that he could plague his son? I don't answer, but his words...

His words linger with me into the dark depths of night.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Just to be clear, the houseless are those elves who die a physical death of the body, and refuse the call of Mandos. Their spirits would remain in Middle-earth, "houseless" of their bodies, and would seek to reconnect with living beings. Michael Martinez has an interesting article about it called "Did the Elves Fear Death at All?" I only mention it because some people don't know what a houseless spirit is and I've had other writers tell me there are no elvish ghosts. To me the houseless spirit of an elf qualifies, but if it bugs you, feel free to disagree._

 _Peace,_

 _levade_


	11. Chapter 11 Gems and Jewels

**Gems and Jewels**

* * *

"What is going on?"

A large crowd has gathered in the King's Square, around the enormous fountain. To my astonishment some of the men and boys are stripping off their tunics and shirts. "The prince is going to throw diamonds in the fountain!" Canyamorco, a young man from the House of the Fountain is hastily pulling off his shirt, ready to jump into the water.

"Canya!" I grab his arm and pull him to face me. "That fountain is deep! The water comes directly from the springs. It's very cold!"

"I don't care." He pulls free and laughs. "The head of our house wears diamonds on his armor. Why shouldn't I?"

It's foolishness and I shake my head as Maeglin steps up on a platform that was not on the side of the fountain this morning. I wonder if the king realizes what his nephew is doing?

"Relax, Elemmakil."

"Milord!" I hadn't heard Ecthelion arrive, but he stands next to me near the fountain's edge. "Did you know about this?"

Slanting a look at me, a wry smile on his face, he shakes his head. "Only when Maeglin requested a platform this morning." Arms crossed, he watches the young men and boys balance on the edge of the fountain. They're waiting for the prince to throw the gems in the fountain. "We had to clear the edges of ice after we turned the fountains off."

"This is a bad idea." Maybe it's having spent so much time in my captain's presence, but I have a horrible feeling about this. "Cannot you stop them, milord?" It is cold, the breath of those waiting to jump steaming in the evening air.

Maeglin smiles and holds up his hands. The crowd roars in approval when he reaches down to pick up two large, bulging sacks. "Ready?" Maeglin laughs and throws the diamonds up. They catch the light, scattering prisms around the fountain before showering down like falling stars. There is a mad rush as the men and boys leap into the fountain to catch the diamonds before the gems sink too deep.

Ecthelion takes a step closer and for a moment I have a sudden image of him tipping over, crashing into the pool and sinking deep into the fountain.

"We'd best get some blankets and move the braziers closer." Shaking his head in amusement, Ecthelion turns from the fountain but stops as his gaze falls on my face. "Elemmakil, are you all right?"

I shake my head and the watery image clears. "I am fine, milord. I'll see the braziers are lit." I rush away, trying to banish the sudden cold that grips me, but even the warm fires of the braziers do little to steal away my shivers. My imagination is running wild, that is all. What use would Ecthelion have of gems? His shield is covered in them! But when I search for him later, he is staring into the fountain. I do not think he is looking for diamonds.

* * *

 _A/N: In case you haven't read The Silmarillion, Ecthelion did drown in the fall of Gondolin, after impaling Gothmog with the spike on his helmet. Ecthelion grabbed the balrog and they fell into the fountain and sank to the very, very deep bottom. I might have to write something very cheerful after all this!_


	12. Chapter 12 My Weapon's Name

**My Weapon's Name**

* * *

The House of the Fountain is often ablaze with light and music, a place for those from the other Houses to join in if they so wish. Many of our folk have Telerin and Sindarin kin, and music is something we all love. It is not unusual for Ecthelion to join us in the singing and dancing. He was trained as a bard in Alqualondë and has a beautiful singing voice, but tonight I glance into his study and see that he is sitting at a table, sharpening a sword.

"My lord?" I hesitate, unsure if he wants company.

"Come in, Elemmakil." The sound of the whetstone on a blade is something any soldier knows, but we don't go out to the gates again for several moons, and I frown.

"The king is not sending you on another trip, is he?" I had heard all about the disastrous trip with Lady Aredhel and how her escorts, including Ecthelion, had to return to the city without her. My father had said the king had been very unhappy with them.

"No." The slight smile eases my worry and I sit.

Ecthelion sets the whetstone aside and wipes the blade down. Picking up the sword, he holds it up before him and gazes at the runes that catch the firelight.

Orcrist sent many orcs fleeing in terror in the Nirnaeth. I had heard them yelling when Ecthelion was fighting and knew they called the sword biter for it had cleaved mighty numbers of their kind. He stares so long that I shift and ask, "Is everything all right?"

Ecthelion moves, his breath fogging the blade. I cannot help but stare, for I swear to Ilúvatar that for a moment there was figure that was not a reflection in that blade. Stout, dressed in fine furs, the figure is holding a sword that can only be Orcrist, but the image is all wrong. Elves do not grow beards, and the blade appears larger than it is in Ecthelion's hands. Much too large.

Then Ecthelion lowers the blade and sheaths it. I look up to find his gaze upon me, and I blink, trying to gather my wits. "Come sing for us, milord."

An easy smile and he sets Orcrist aside. It is, for the moment, nothing but a sword. "Very well, Elemmakil."

But I am uneasy around the sword now. It is of Maeglin's crafting, and he has often bragged of his father's prowess in sword making. One blade, Anglachel, is said to have been imbued with Eöl's malice. Some of the Sindar swear it is even sentient.

I cannot help wonder if Maeglin did something similar with Orcrist. But it was a gift to the king! It was Turgon who gave it to Ecthelion, for his service to the city. Many such gifts were given to the lords of the Houses.

Perhaps Ecthelion will someday gift it to someone. But why would the blade show this person to me? And who is he?

* * *

A/N:

 _Thank you so much for the amazing reviews, and I will get back to each of you! This week has been insanely busy._

 _Canon doesn't state that Orcrist was Ecthelion's. Only that it was given to Turgon, as was Glamdring, by Maeglin who crafted both swords. It eventually ended up being found by the Dwarves in The Hobbit, Ages later. The last we see of Orcrist, it is atop Thorin's tomb, under Erebor. Anglachel is a fascinating sword and that sad tale is told in The Silmarillion._


	13. Chapter 13 Documentation

**Documentation**

* * *

"Are you certain you have it exactly as they spoke?"

"My lord." How could I forget? I stood in awe watching a mere mortal suddenly appear as one of the Powers. "I am positive."

"Ecthelion bowed to him?"

The doubt is understandable, the head of my house is proud, one of the mighty lords of Gondolin. "Would you not bow to Ulmo if he suddenly appeared and spoke to you?"

"Yes, yes, but this was a mortal man!" Pengolodh scowls and taps his quill against his teeth. I see now why ink stains his lips.

I lean forward and tap his document. "'Lord of the Fountains, hinder not the messenger of the Lord of the Waters!'* Word for word. I shall never forget it, my lord! His voice and manner changed, as if Lord Ulmo spoke through him."

"And Ecthelion bowed."

This is how it is with Pengolodh. He is one of the Lambengolmor, the Loremasters of Tongues, which means his manner is exacting and acerbic. "Do you wish me to go ask Lord Ecthelion to come and recite for you himself?" It was pure sarcasm. I should have known better.

"Yes. Do so now, Elemmakil."

I bow and leave, going back to the House of the Fountains. Ecthelion is in his study, where I expect to find him, staring out a window. The view is spectacular, snow white mountains and stars gleaming in the dark, but I do not think he even sees it. "My lord."

"Hmm?" He turns and he looks as a man surfacing from deep, deep waters. "Oh, Elemmakil."

"Lord Pengolodh is requesting your presence, sir."

His mouth quirks in a wry smile. "Not entirely unexpected." Ecthelion turns and sighs. "I am not ready to speak of it yet." He walks to a chair and sits, leaning his forearms upon his thighs. "Long has it been since I have seen any of the Valar."

Born in Middle-earth, I can only imagine what it is to live in the same land with the Powers. "I saw it as well, milord, and yet..." I shrug as he meets my gaze. "Tuor is merely a mortal man."

"Mortal, yes." Sitting back, Ecthelion taps his fingers upon the chair arm. "But there is nothing simple about him."

The lords of the Houses met with the king for most of the day, and though I know not what was decided yet, I know Ecthelion will inform us when he is able. "Do you wish me to tell Lord Pengolodh that you are delayed and cannot speak with him this evening?"

Ecthelion stands. "I know what he is like when he is intent upon documenting every detail. I'll speak with him." He turns in the doorway. "Go enjoy your evening, Elemmakil." A shadow is upon his face but his Aman-bright eyes are like flames in the darkness. "It will all change now."

Odd words, but I go to find my friends. We shall drink to the might of change marching into Gondolin!

* * *

 _*Quoted from 'Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin', The Silmarillion. I love Tuor and this was always one of my favorite parts of the story - mortal man marches into a hidden city and sets all the Noldor on their immortal, pointy ears! ;) Then he up and marries the king's daughter! Yep. I love Tuor._

 _Thank you so much for reading! I hope to catch up on answering by Sunday (and reviewing all the stories you've posted)!_


	14. Chapter 14 Finally

_"For the Quest is achieved, and now all is over. I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Sam."_

-J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Return of the King_

* * *

 **Finally**

How long we fought, I cannot say. How many battles, I know not. I only know that in the very end, when Melkor at last, forever and for all time was thrown down and his dark light extinguished from this world, we raised bloody swords and gave ragged cheers. I would have cried if I was able, but all I could do was push myself to wander and see if any of my friends had survived.

This was the end of all things, the end of all time. I knew not what came next and wanted to my friends with me.

"You live!" I found Ecthelion, standing at the edge of a crater where Melkor had been destroyed, watching the three mighty victors, Túrin Turambar, Eönwë and Tulkas.

He turned and smiled, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Elemmakil! I lost track of you in the chaos. It is good to see you, my friend!"

Glorfindel was there as well, and we found as many of our loved ones as we could.

"This is the unmaking of Arda, then?"

"Don't be afraid." Glorfindel's voice was quiet above the sobbing and weeping around us. "Many of us have crossed from death and back again. It holds no terrors."

But I feared, for I had survived all things. Gondolin, the kin-slaying at Arvernion, the sinking of Beleriand, The War of Wrath. Battle was no stranger, but death...

Ecthelion looked upwards to where the stars were scattered across the black sky like rivers of diamonds. Melkor had destroyed the sun and moon and the world was as it had been when our people awakened; in starlight. Throwing aside his sword, Ecthelion knelt. "Though this be my end, I will not meet it with defiance and fearful words, or swords raised in anger."

He began to sing a very old song, far older than even Gondolin, and I dropped my sword, fell to my knees next to him and joined in song. He was my captain, though surely I was far beyond that now. Never had he led me wrong, even in that last, awful battle in Gondolin. I would not leave him.

Not now, at the end of all things.

I heard Glorfindel join the song and then, from all around, others singing, and before long the plain was echoing with voices raised in song.

They say death is a transition, not an ending. The sloughing off of the battered, grimy form, too weak to continue, and the rising of the new, glorious body that echoes the splendor of the spirit.

Arda died. She was worn and weary, battered from our wars, and her travails.

In the blink of an eye, Arda was re-made, and the brilliance of light that filled my wonder-filled gaze was gold and silver untarnished.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _Happy Halloween! I know, this isn't quite like the others, but then what is Halloween but a transition? A time to say farewell to summer and move into fall and winter (in the Northern Hemisphere at least). To the darker days that come and hope for the return of brighter days. Tolkien never wrote much about the Dagor Dagorath but if you look up the Second Prophecy of Mandos, you'll find where I took this idea from. Thank you for all your amazing reviews! I am slowly getting back to everyone. :)_


	15. Chapter 15 I Am Still Here

" _Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything."_

C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Prompt: I Am Still Here

* * *

"Elrond." Galadriel stepped into his path, and there was not compassion in the ageless face, but weariness. "Stop. Sit with me."

He wanted no platitudes. No pity or words of understanding. Angry if someone was silent, angry if someone spoke, Elrond was dissatisfied with everything and everyone. Sitting, he sighed and looked away. "There is nothing you can say." Galadriel's presence was both barb and balm, an echo of Celebrían.

"It never gets easier."

"Should it?" Anger, oh there was a dragon hoard of anger in his voice, but he didn't care. The world was shrouded. He saw, he touched, he tasted, but it was all distant. Elrond walked in a daze.

"No."

Rage rose. He wanted to scream and shout, to kick at something and simply feel again. Anything but the overwhelming loss that had not stopped aching since she left, and nor would it he suspected. Instead tears burned at his eyes and Elrond blinked hard to hold the tide back. It crashed over his control and carried him to his feet, hands balled in anger. "I beg and plead for answers. Why? What could I have done? Why did I let ..." He choked and closed his eyes. "I am deaf and blind. I ask. I keep asking and yet all I hear is silence. The Valar have closed the door and bolted it against me." He sank to the bench and shook his head. "I have no hope."

Galadriel was silent, but stayed with him as the shadows crept across the garden.

"I have thought of giving Vilya to another. Of sailing." Now she turned to him and Elrond met her gaze. She had lost much in her life; home, brothers, and now a daughter. But she was not alone. "You have Celeborn."

"You have your children." Galadriel looked away, and a tear glistened down her cheek. "I cannot leave Middle-earth, Elrond. The West is truly barred against me."

His parents a hazy memory, Elros, forever separated from him. Elrond stood. The thought of never again seeing Celebrían was unbearable. The burden of Vilya was his, willingly accepted. He had not realized what it would mean to be a keeper of a ring of power, what it would cost. Now he understood. "I cannot yet sail. " Galadriel met his gaze and the sorrow that dulled her eyes was terrible to see. Healer above all else, Elrond could not stand to see suffering. "Arwen will likely return with you to Lothlórien. She-" He had to stop and let the pain that choked him ease before speaking. "There are too many memories here."

"You are welcome as well."

They stood in Celebrían's garden, bare and hushed in winter. In spring it would bloom and birds would sing in the trees.

Celebrían's scent lingered like a song in air. A constant reminder, a melody unsung. "I will remain." He had his duty.

But someday...

* * *

 **A/N:** _Tolkien says this in his Letter #320: "Galadriel was a penitent: in her youth a leader in the rebellion against the Valar (the angelic guardians). At the end of the First Age she proudly refused forgiveness or permission to return. She was pardoned because of her resistance to the final and overwhelming temptation to take the Ring for herself." And so we get the unforgettable scene in the film of her temptation and refusal - it's in the books too but not quite so...flashy.  
_

 _He revised that (of course), but I like that so I went with it.  
_

 _Sorry for the sad. December can be a sad season for me, and C.S. Lewis understood it so well. Forgive me, please, for not replying to each comment. You deserve a reply and I'm just really bad at it, but I appreciate every single one of you. **Thank you**.  
_


	16. Chapter 16 Letters

Prompt: Letters

 _This is a bit of a continuation from my story, Nor Bid the Stars Farewell, but you don't have to have read that to understand it. For EverleighBain - who reminds me frequently of the good things and listens to my grumblings.  
_

 _Happy New Year, to anyone reading. May your days grow brighter!_

* * *

He was just dusting the letter with a light coating of sand when he caught the faintest scuff of a boot on wood. Continuing as if he hadn't heard, Glorfindel shook the parchment and blew the last of the sand from it before setting it down to re-read. Doubtless Bronwë would be entertained by hearing about the latest adventures of Elrond's family.

They still weren't sure what to do with the Mearas colt.

Another scuff of a boot and Glorfindel dropped letter to whirl and grab the miscreant attempting to sneak up on him. "Ha!"

A squeak of surprise and Elrohir grinned. "Someday I shall surprise you!"

"I have no doubt of that, youngling." Though if it was only being tackled that would be a relief. "Where is your brother?"

Elrohir wrinkled his nose and wriggled free to lean against the table. He traced the edge of the parchment with one finger. One grubby finger that stuck to the parchment. Bronwë would likely find small elf fingerprints amusing, but Glorfindel caught the boy's hand before he could smear the still-drying ink.

"You said we could go see the Dwarves."

Glorfindel pretended to think. "Did I?"

"Gofi!" Grabbing the arm of the Eldar, Elrohir leaned in and gave his most sincere look. The one that always worked on Nana but only made Adar laugh. "My greatest aspria...apsir..." With a huff, he thumped his free hand on Glorfindel's arm. "I _really_ want to see Dwarves!"

"Aspiration. And you hope to achieve this by beating upon me?"

"When can we go?"

Sweet stars. Glorfindel bit back a sigh and stared at the boy who was plucking at the seams of his sleeve. Ivy had nothing on this child's tenacity! "Have you asked Haldir?"

A snort. "He said he'd rather be hung upside down from the top of a mallorn, but why would he rather do that?"

"What of your father?"

"Said to ask you." The grey eyes so like his sire's were full of sincerity. "We're so close to Moria and I won't have this chance back home and Daernaneth said you're not afraid of caverns no matter how horribly deep they go or how preca...precrious the bridges are, and so you should be the one to take me." He quickly added, "Adi wants to go too."

"Precarious." A sigh and Glorfindel stood. "Of course he does." Looking down at the hopeful child, there was no reason to deny him. Besides, he'd just keep asking. "I'll speak with your grandparents and see what we can arrange."

"Really?"

"Child." Glorfindel knelt. "Haven't I always kept my promises?"

Elrohir was solemn. "Yes."

A smile and Glorfindel stood. "Run along and tell your brother. Be sure you remind your grandmother than you _really_ want her to go too."

"I will!" With a whoop Elrohir raced off, yelling for Elladan.

Turning back to his letter Glorfindel sighed. Moria. Wonderful. He'd better add a postscript so that Bronwë would know where to find him should he never return.


	17. Chapter 17 Any One of Us

_Set after the attack on Arvernion by the Sons of Fëanor. Círdan and Ereinion Gil-galad rescued the survivors and brought them back to the Isle of Balar, near the end of the First Age._

 _Prompt: Any One of Us_

* * *

Part of me hates them, these cousins of mine who have left an entire town burning, killed elves and left so many little ones screaming in terror.

We were unable to find Eärendil's children. Elwing threw herself from a cliff, the Silmaril clutched in her hands. Some claim she changed into a bird and flew away.

My family did this. Blood. Kin. People my father loved dearly.

I don't know what to think. I am numb. The blood of so many people stains my hands. Was it any clearer for my father? Was it easy for him to search out and rescue Maedhros? Even after being betrayed and left to cross the grinding ice?

I doubt it. He had as many doubts as I, or so I like to think.

I wish he had not died. I wish, oh, every day I wish, that this had not come to me.

But it did. Círdan would not be sympathetic to such thoughts. Life is as it is, and we take what comes and do our best.

I cannot help but wonder. What if Fingon had not rescued Maedhros. What if. Would I be holding this child, who is covered in the blood of his mother who died protecting him? Would we be in this situation at all?

"Shhh..." I cuddle the child closer, and pray with all that is in me that I can do what is right for these people.

For all my people.

And I pray for my cousins.

Because when all is said and done?

It could be any one of us who is in this situation, driven by forces we can only imagine we understand.

No. I will not hate. I will defend and build a strong kingdom where all are welcome so long as they abide with others in peace. We do not have to agree on all things.

But we must learn to cooperate or we will not survive to another Age.

Ilúvatar, help me, for this all seems too large for one person to do.

"Here, lad." Círdan pulls a heavy cloak around my shoulders and tucks it around the child. "Don't look so glum. We'll find a way through this." He touches my face and for a moment his eyes soften. "Hold your course, Ereinion. Stand steady."

He is gone, moving off to see to others before I can say a word.

I am young for this burden, but it matters not. I am not alone. Círdan has told me time and again that I am where I belong, and here for this time and purpose. I don't understand, but Círdan sees further than anyone else I know. He has never given me a reason not to trust him.

Maybe my father was wise after all. He learned to forgive those who had betrayed him. To move on. I hope someday I can ask him all the questions I have.

He was called valiant.

Only time will show what history accounts of me.

* * *

 **A/N** : _I know that later versions show Orodreth as Gil-galad's father, but I like the version that claims Fingon is because to me, it complicates things. Living up to a hero like Fingon the Valiant would not be easy, but I think Gil-galad did._


	18. Chapter 18 Stealing

" _...and slowly the ship slipped away down the long grey firth; and the light of the glass of Galadriel that Frodo bore glimmered and was lost._ "

― _The Return of the King_ , The Grey Havens

Prompt: Stealing

* * *

Ah, so you're the thief."

From the startled look on her face, it was clear this was not what Galadriel had expected to hear. "My lord?"

Blue eyes twinkling, Eärendil nodded. "Thought I wouldn't notice, hm?"

Elrond coughed and looked away, lips pressed together to keep from laughing. It wasn't every day Galadriel found herself at an impasse.

The Mariner arched an eyebrow. "Imagine my surprise when one of the Hobbits tried to give me a vial of my own light."

"That light saved his life."

"Yes, I did know." He smiled. "Which is why I bade him keep it."


	19. Chapter 19 Tradition

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Lord Illyren, I really could see Frodo offering it back as well. His humility is beautiful, as is his generosity. I have to agree with Gandalf that Hobbits really are amazing creatures._

 _I always loved the part in the movies where they enter the great hall of Moria, and we see row upon row of columns. The music is gorgeous, and well...this is where it took me._

* * *

Prompt: Tradition

It was as if the very land itself wrapped around him in a hug, welcoming him back to its spacious caverns and secret layers upon layers of rock.

So very, very deep. Gimli drew in a full breath, and sighed in contentment. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being outdoors, but it was so very _open_. Here, he could feel the good rock beneath his feet, hear the song of the water as it wound through a cleft, telling of what treasures the hidden depths held. The mountain welcomed him, lending strength to his bones as if recalling from where his people came. It sang to him, and begged for him to discover what wonders awaited.

In his mind's eye he could see what the caverns would look like once his people had finished bringing out the hidden beauty of the stone and gems. They would polish and coax fire with facets and let the rocks sing as they longed to. Only small changes were needed in the main caverns. A tiny tap of a hammer here. The slightest adjustment of depth there. There was so much perfection already. It would be desecration to ruin that.

Aglarond would not be like Khazad-dûm. There they had pushed too far, and greed had overtaken sense. Oh, the stone pillars rising to the roof like graceful arms worshipping had been breath-taking, rows upon rows of perfect beauty that had brought tears to his eyes. But not here. The world had changed, and Dwarves must change with it.

Though not overly much. Gimli snorted and could almost hear what the elf would say where he there. Ah, but Legolas had been changed by their travels as well, and was leading a group of his people to Ithilien. He too was leaving behind traditions to forge his own way in a new land.

A new Age. A new home. New traditions would meld with the old here in the Glittering Caves. They would build such wonders as the world had never seen! There were good, strong bones of ore to mine and Gimli's fingers itched to begin a design for Minas Tirith's gates. _Mithril_ and steel, beauty and resilience that would tell all of the city's rulers. They would last for the lifetime of many men! He laughed and lifted his face as his laughter echoed through the grotto. Home.

It was a good start.


	20. Chapter 20 What Happens Now?

" _The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."_

~G. K. Chesterton

* * *

 **Prompt: What Happens Now?**

What we carry is little, but it weighs upon our shoulders, making our steps heavy. It is memory that both quiets our complaints and strengthens our resolve. Memory of those we left behind. Our homes. Our land.

We are bereft, stripped bare and shivering.

But we live. And while we live we carry the memory of those lost. Already the minstrels sing of Glorfindel the Golden and his battle with the demon.

My tongue is ash. I cannot yet speak of what lies behind, cannot bear to hear his name, though those who survived of our House use it as a battle cry. At night I dream I am sinking down, deeper, deeper. Falling though water as if sinking in air. I awake gasping, heart pounding, and wonder...

Why? Was I not brave enough? Did I not fight hard enough?

I could not save him, my captain. No one could, not once he had set his mind to what must be done.

"Elemmakil."

I snap to with a start and stare at the man before me. He does not touch me, and is careful to keep a distance. We soldiers are too quick to draw a bow or sword these days. Too on-edge. "Lord Tuor." Dark circles bruise the skin under his eyes, blue eyes that echo the weariness we all feel. He is mortal, but in our loss we are so very alike.

"I cannot thank your captain." The words seem to choke him and for a moment he struggles, swallowing hard. "He saved my life."

My mind is numb. I nod, for what could I say?

"He was my friend."

The words bring my gaze up to meet Tuor's and I see in his eyes the misery that haunts mine. He knew not the long hours at the last gate spent in dark watches, cold and wary, when Ecthelion would sing softly to pass the time. He had not survived the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, or come back to a city that was too empty with the loss of so many.

But Tuor had come to us with a warning and brought hope to our people. My captain had seen something in this mortal man that he admired. So much that he sacrificed himself to ensure that Tuor lived.

"He was our captain and lord." He was to me like a brother. My confidante and counselor. I had followed him through dragon fire to death's door. We are without a House, without a King. Wandering the wilderness like the dispossessed. I am captain now, but I never desired this weight. I can only move forward in life or surrender to fading.

I meet his gaze again, seeking what my captain discerned in this man. Yes, mortal, but I see the same honor, compassion and bravery that shone through Ecthelion. How better to honor my captain than to serve the one he saved?

I bow my head. "How may the House of the Fountain serve you, my lord?"


	21. Chapter 21 Threads

_I went way over the word count but I have no regrets. They wanted to speak and I didn't have the heart to stop them._

Prompt: Threads

* * *

"May I join you?"

Elladan barely nodded his head, gaze locked on something only he could see on the horizon. Seated on the warm sand, knees drawn up, his arms were looped around his legs, hands clasped. Closed off and not welcoming.

It wasn't the first time Tuor had been met with opposition. "Adjusting to life here can be difficult." He shook his head as the wind caught grey-blond strands of hair and drew in a deep breath of sea air. "Not only because of those who have never lived anywhere but Aman and can't imagine why anyone would want to, but having those same people regard you like some sample of a unique life form, to be examined and studied. Discussed."

He didn't push when no answer came. Long years had given him insight into his wife's people and he knew some thoughts just took time to play out. And truthfully, he just wasn't used to this. Family had never played a huge part in his life. Not since Gondolin.

Funny how, despite that, his family had become common household names. Everyone knew his story, some version of it, and seemed to think that gave them a right to comment on it.

"You got to live."

He turned his head and was pleasantly surprised to find his companion had turned that gaze upon him. It was an ageless face of course, graced with the beauty of the Eldar, but there was something fierce and untamed in the grey eyes. Pain, he belatedly realized. And anger. "To my great surprise, yes."

A frown and the tone became bitter. "And yet my sister was granted no such boon."

Tuor recognized the signs of a squall brewing and wisely said nothing. What could he say? That the Valar had allowed Idril and himself passage was beyond expectation. He had fully expected to die like any mortal man. Had made peace with that...

Ah, but it had meant being parted for all time from his wife, and that. That had cut to the quick.

A sigh, and Tuor shifted to sit cross-legged. "It's hard to understand why they do the things they do." He shook his head. "My son is lauded for his heroic acts even as his wife is reviled for being a coward. Yet if Elwing had not brought the Silmaril to Eärendil..." Tuor slanted a look at his great-grandson. "You and I would not be sitting here."

"My father has no ill-will towards her."

Nor any great love, but Tuor kept his mouth shut. It was hard to argue against a child who had been abandoned not only by his parents but by his twin. "Maybe I owe you an apology." He turned to look at the young man, searching for something familiar. Some hint of the woman who slept at his side every night, and lightened his days with her smile and wit. The arch of the eyebrows? Not the hair. Elladan's hair was so brown as to be nearly black. But when he turned his head to look at Tuor, the man's breath caught. There, in the high cheekbones and the determined set of the chin. It was impossible to pin down, but for a moment he had seen something that called forth a memory of Turgon, standing on a turret, high above Gondolin.

It brought a lump to his throat and he swallowed hard.

"For what?"

So many scenarios played though his mind, familiar things that he wrestled with in all of the years he had lived in Aman. Granted the long life of the Eldar, his mind was still that of a man, and his thoughts sometimes betrayed his past. "That maybe," he began, voice hoarse, choked still by memories and regrets, "if I'd been more content, and not so restless, maybe if we'd stayed..." Tuor stopped for a moment to clear his throat. "We might have been there when they came to Avernion."

Elladan shook his head, and said without hesitation, "They would have killed you." The look was not quite pity, but not so far from it. "You would have been too old by then, and Idril would have lost you for all time."

Old. He had been getting old even when they sailed. "Idril might have talked them down. They knew her as a child."

Now there was pity in the grey eyes. "The Oath drove them, Tuor. I would like to think they wouldn't hurt their cousin, and I've heard Adar tell of the kindness he and Elros were shown by the brothers, but I know what it is to be driven to an act. I know how it feels to try and purge yourself of it, to live as others do around you, and yet the memory of the thing will not let you rest." Elladan shook his head. "They could not rest until they had the Silmarils."

"Nor could they rest once they had them." Tuor spoke softly, quietly. Any anger he felt for the Fëanorians had long ago been quenched by pity. He would not blame those, like Elwing, who even still flew into anger at what had been done to her and her family, but he felt only sadness that such brilliant lives had ended so tragically.

"And yet," Elladan faced the sea again, absently pushing back a braid as the wind tugged it across his face, "I now see my mother whole and healed, the very thing I wished for." He shook his head. "And I am still discontent."

Tuor considered for a long moment what to say. He had found it far easier to connect with the younger of the twin sons of Elrond. Not to say that Elrohir mourned the loss of their sister any less, but Elladan seemed to take it as an affront to his family. Something not to be borne. "Have you ever been in love?" He couldn't help it; his mouth crooked into a wry smile at the surprised look shot at him.

Elladan snorted. "I've yet to meet anyone who takes my breath away and keeps me staring at her as time swirls past."

A low chuckle and Tuor shook his head. "It's not always a bolt out of the blue, lad. Sometimes it's the slow realization that you don't want to live without that person in your life. That you'll do whatever it takes to stand by her side, even in the face of the overwhelming truth that you..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "That you're just not what anyone had in mind for their little girl, and you're truly not good enough."

"He was a good man." Elladan looked east again. "The best I knew."

Tuor waited, knowing by long association with elves that there was more; words, slowly filtering through strong emotion to form into what could be spoken.

"It wasn't until the end." Elladan's hands fisted and he drew in a sharp breath, holding it for a long moment. "After Aragorn died. It became real then. Arwen..." He shook his head, mouth open but eyes lost in memory. "She just...diminished. I don't know how else to say it."

Tuor nodded. How often had he seen Idril watching him, brow furrowed and eyes worried in a way that should never touch the beautiful face. All for him. His mortality. "I am sorry."

"For what?"

"Lad..." A sigh and Tuor shook his head. "Sometimes I think maybe Idril would have been better off for never having met me, but then I see Eärendil and all that he did for both Elves and Men. I see your father and you and Elrohir. Valar forgive me, but I cannot be sorry for what came of loving Idril, even if I had died a mortal man."

"What will come of Arwen and Aragorn's love though?" Elladan scowled. "Most of the Elves have sailed and men have short lives and shorter memories. In a generation or two who will remember them and what they accomplished?"

The bitterness in the voice hurt to hear. "Idril knew nothing of what was to come from loving me. Aye, she has foresight but all she saw in me was a man. Not some distant future where our son would sail the heavens and his children become mighty among both kindred." Tuor stood and met his great-grandson's gaze. "Can you truly believe nothing good will come from them, Elladan? Arwen and Aragorn were courageous, patient beyond what most are made to endure, and faithful not only to one another but to their people. How can that not affect those who come after?" Greatly daring, Tuor bent and squeezed the strong shoulder with his weathered hand, marked by life and time in a way the younger man would never face. "Including you, lad."

Grey eyes flashed as Elladan looked up and held his gaze and for a moment Tuor held his breath, waiting for the flare of temper that had bred true down this line. But Elladan only frowned and looked away. "I will think on it."

Ah, well. Better than he expected, really. He could now tell Idril with a clear conscience that he had tried. Tuor began to walk back up the beach.

"Daeradar."

For a moment he thought it was a trick of the sea and his non-elvish hearing. Damn conches of Ulmo still haunted his dreams. Tuor turned.

Elladan inclined his head in a regal way that called forth a long-lost kingdom and its ruler yet again. "Thank you."

Tuor smiled and gave a nod before heading for home, his steps lighter than before.

* * *

 _If you're reading this, thank you! Tuor is actually Elladan's great-grandfather, and yes, I do choose to believe he was granted the longevity of the Eldar, and allowed to live in Aman with Idril. One of the great love stories in Tolkien's works, and one of my favorites. Happy Valentine's Day.  
_


	22. Chapter 22 A Difficult Road

**Prompt: A Difficult Road**

 _A double drabble_

* * *

He stared long at the newborn, too long and with such an odd expression. It made me nervous and I couldn't help making the sign against evil.

He noticed immediately and looked at me with those eyes, those chilling blue eyes and arched one eyebrow. "Have you something to say, midwife?"

"My lord..." I hesitated, then met his gaze. "The babe is beautiful. Perfect. But he is born under an ill sign."

I'll give him credit. He did not roll his eyes as he had done before. He narrowed them. "Explain."

"Ithil was just rising when your queen went into labor, and he was born with the light of Ithil full on his face." I shook my head, sure of my words. "He will not be content to remain here. He will wander like the moon he was born under."

"Nonsense." Thranduil cuddled his son closer and smiled at the newborn. "He is our newest prince. This is his home."

But not forever. My heart was certain. This one would never be content to remain. I bowed my head. "Of course, my lord." I left him with the babe.

Let him enjoy his son while he can.


	23. Chapter 23 Failed Attempt

_**Prompt: Failed Attempt**_

 _Waaaay over one hundred. Oops?_

* * *

"This is crazy."

"Like that's anything new."

The muttered comment is Celebrimbor, who is slowly backing away, gaze on his father who sees nothing but the contraption he's working on. I smirk and turn back to my brother. Curufin is crafty and sometimes dangerously inventive, but he's also a genius at new ways of killing our enemies. In this case, he's working on a new way to deliver supplies to our followers who were cut off several days ago. He's been working non-stop, muttering to himself with the same manic light in his eyes I remember seeing in Atar's.

That is not comforting. Atar was brilliant, but not always good at seeing the consequences of his experiments. I submit the Silmarils for your examination.

Well, no. Not really. If you had them I'd kill you and take them. They are ours, after all. Sod what the Valar say.

"All right." Curufin looks up, face streaked with soot and I don't know what else, and waves me away. "Back. Step back. This will involve an explosion."

Explosions? Yes! I grin and move to stand with Celebrimbor who looks uneasy. "Don't worry." He looks at me, and I can see my words didn't reassure him. "Your father knows what he's doing."

"Right." He moves even farther away.

"Hoist it up!" The crate of supplies rises, hoisted by several elves. It goes up and up, higher into the tree than I expected and I consider taking another few steps back when Curufin turns and gives me a manic smile.

"This will be wonderful!"

 _Ulmo's conches_. Atar always said that right before a few of his lesser-known experiments. They didn't end so well. Ammë lost her greenhouse to one and stayed angry at him for as long as it took us to rebuild. Curufin is holding a fuse that leads to the crate, far up in the trees and I have time to wonder where this crate is intended to go when he lights the fuse.

We watch it burn brightly as it travels up the cord, up, up towards the crate. "Let it go!"

The fellows holding the hithlain ropes give one another an uncertain look, let go and run as fast as they can away from this meyhem.

The crate begins to fall, plummeting towards the ground when the fuse lights the ... "Are those Atar's rockets?" I back up, faster this time. I remember what those rockets did to the trees nearest Atar's workroom. We were picking splinters out of the horses for weeks!

Just as the crate is about to crash to the ground I hear a roar and a flash of intense light as the rockets fire. For a moment the crate hangs as if suspended, the bright flare of the rockets pushing it upwards.

Then the rockets sputter and the crate crashes to the ground and bursts into flames.

In the light of the flames, I see Curufin shaking his head and making notes on a pad he carries everywhere.

After the fires are put out, and several fellows are having splinters removed, I sit with my brother and sigh. "Just how were we going to get that crate above our men to drop it?"

Sketching something in his pad, he shrugs. One black braid falls over his shoulder and for just the smallest moment I almost think I see my father sitting there. Then he looks up and I see weariness in his eyes. "I'll figure something out. Maybe we could use pigeons. They're everywhere."

I rub my eyes and leave him to his muttering. It is good to be Noldorin, but sometimes I think the crazed desire to figure out and invent might just be the end of us all. Someday we'll figure out something so brilliant that we'll end life on Arda. Hopefully it will involve explosions and be fast, and if it's my genius brother who comes up with it? That will be a guarantee. But at least life won't be boring


	24. Chapter 24: Snow

_Prompt: Cold_

 _For E, who mistakenly asked for a Norway prompt, thanks to autocorrect. ;)_

* * *

"Don't be snide, Ecthelion."

"I..." I turned to the third person standing with us on the precipice, looking down to the long, long drop. "Elemmakil, was I being snide?"

Ever diplomatic, he held up his hands and smiled. "Bit sarcastic, my lord."

"But not snide." I huffed and contemplated pushing the big, brash blond down the steep slope. Would serve him right, dragging us back from Aman because wanderlust had gotten the best of him.

Again.

"They call that a fjord."

"I call it freezing." I stomped my frozen feet and sighed. "Only you would come to Norway in winter, Glorfindel."

* * *

 _Apologies to Norwegians. You have a absolutely_ _gorgeous_ _(and freezing) country! :D_


	25. Chapter 25: Friends Forever

_**Prompt: Friends Forever**_

 _I was challenged to use the word "hops" by someone. All right. Here you go! ;)_

* * *

"What is this plant, Gimli?" I grimace. It stinks.

Gimli turns, and his eyes get that gleam that warns me. "What? Master Elf, you don't know hops when you see it? Why, I thought Elves knew every plant that grew under the sun!"

"And a few that grow underground." I arch an eyebrow. "Since when do Dwarves plant and harvest crops?" His indignant sputters make me smile and I have to hide it as he bristles and fusses with his beard.

"What you do _not_ know about Dwarves, Master Elf, would likely make up more books than Master Elrond has in that library of his! Why, we Dwarves are perfectly capable of ..."

I pay slight attention to his rant as he goes on. Oh, Gimli, you're so wonderfully predictable! What shall I do when the white hairs dusting your beard outnumber the auburn, and your eyes grow dim? When the fiery spirit within you dies to glowing embers and your bones begin to ache? It will happen. 'Tis only a matter of time.

I have _only_ time, but he... I cannot bear to think on it. "All right, Gimli. Let's go sample this beer of yours."


	26. Chapter 26 A Simple Delight

_These characters are lovingly snagged from EverleighBain's fantastic story,_ _ **Valiant**_ _. GO. Read! Really, if you love Halbarad and Aragorn and Rangers? I highly recommend it. Eluned is Halbarad's daughter, Fain is her dog and Sive is Eluned's best friend. I'm calling this OT because it didn't happen in Ev's story. I did get her permission to poach. For Rebeccasaurus, who requested a dog and no angst. ;D If it's not to your liking, let me know and I'll write something more appealing to you. Just one last note - the POV does change from bit to bit. Thank you for reading!_

 _ **Prompt:**_ _ **A Simple Delight**_

* * *

 _Halbarad_

She cuddles the pup, and I sigh as it snuggles its white fuzzy body closer to her. Eluned giggles and I shake my head and turn sharply as I hear a snicker. " _You_."

My kinsman and cousin attempts to look innocent and fails. "They seem taken with one another, Halbarad."

"That was to be my hunting dog."

"And now, he will guard your children instead." Slapping my shoulder, Aragorn chuckles and pauses to bend and ruffle Eluned's hair before leaving.

* * *

 _Eluned_

"Sive!" I have mixed feelings as _my_ puppy licks my friends face, making her shriek and giggle. "Fain is mine!"

"Easy, Little Lune." Ada puts a hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place. "She's here enough to be one of mine. Let him learn to love her as well. What can it hurt?"

I want to pout, but Nana is watching with sharp eyes. I reluctantly nod. "Yes, Ada."

* * *

 _Sive_

I will not cry. I know all too well that life is not fair. What is the loss of a leg? I have my life, and I should be grateful. I am. Truly.

But the tears are hot behind my eyelids and hard as I try, they slip down my cheeks.

A cold nose touches my cheek and I open my eyes to see Fain. Beloved Fain, cuddling in, almost climbing in my lap. I half-laugh, half-cry and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his soft white coat. No, he cannot bring my leg back or give me what has been robbed from me, but his tail thumps as he rests his head on my shoulder, and somehow eases the pain in my heart.

* * *

 _Eluned_

"What are you carrying?" I catch up to Fain, thinking that he's trying to carry a well-gnawed and beloved stick to Sian who still is bedridden. Or worse; he has been known to bring a dead squirrel. One time he brought only part of one. "Fain..." I kneel, and white plume of a tail wagging, Fain deposits the chubby pup in my arms then sits with an expectant look. "Is he your pup?" It must be! He isn't as shaggy as his sire yet, but he has the same long tail and is licking my hands and arms and whatever else he can reach of me. I laugh and cuddle him. "Did you mean to bring him to Sive?"

The tail wags faster and I stand. "That is one of the best gifts I can imagine. " I set the pup down and Fain carefully picks the squirmy pup up by its neck. "Let's go show her!"

* * *

 _Much, **much** love to Ev for letting me borrow her babies! :D_


	27. Chapter 27: Beard

_I added a prompt word just because beards deserve some appreciation too!_

 _ **Prompt: Beard**_

* * *

"See here, Master Elf." Gimli puts his hand out to one of the guard dogs, whose head is nearly as high as the Dwarf, and the long, curled tail begins to wag. "Have you ever seen so fierce a hound? Look at the teeth and the coat! The coat, Master Elf! Double-coated, and hardy. You'll never find a finer hound!" Speaking softly to the dog, Gimli runs his hands down her shoulders and into the thick ruff of fur around her neck. "Grimfala here has a litter, don't you my fine lass?"

The dog bounds away and returns with a fat, fuzzy pup that it presents to Gimli like any properly proud parent.

"Oh! Look at this fine wee fellow!" Gimli bends and picks the pup up to cuddle against his beard. "Who is the fine fellow? Are you? Yes, oh yes."

My Dwarven friend coos at the puppy then I have to laugh as it grabs hold of a braid and tugs fiercely.

"OH!" Gimli is still laughing, but also trying to loosen fierce puppy teeth from his beloved braids. "You are...OUCH! Now, heh...let go of my beard, pup. Oh, yes, you're fierce! Now let go..."

I laugh. "You seem to have found someone who appreciates your beard, Gimli!"


	28. Chapter 28: Filling in the Gaps

_**Prompt: Filling In the Gaps**_

* * *

"Gandalf?"

"What is it, Pippin?"

He hesitates and I sit. This might take a while.

"I have a question you might not like."

Stars preserve us all. "Ask, Peregrine Took. I don't promise to answer."

He blurts, "I overhead some of those Lothlórien elves talking about your returning to them by Eagle, and how your staff had to be remade and I wondered..."

"You wondered what?" It comes out a bit menacing. I know it will little sway this particular hobbit.

"Did you carve it yourself or did one of the elves? You see, Merry and I have a bet..."

* * *

 _Thank you, Certh, for the catch! :)_


	29. Chapter 29: Handicapped

_**Prompt: Handicapped**_

* * *

I am broken, body and soul. Death will be welcome, though I don't expect the Doomsman to be kind.

Why would he? I am traitor, twisted and tormented.

What chance did I ever have? A father who loathed and loved as if they were the same thing, a mother who loved but wished... Oh, she wished for many things. None of them came to pass.

It grows dim. I feel a call, a tugging at my spirit. Summoning me.

He is fearsome, this Doomsman. I cannot face him. I am dreadful.

 _"Child. Come, you are weary. Sleep and be healed."_

* * *

 _Very short, a true drabble for once. Maeglin is the character if you couldn't guess. I've always felt very sad for him. His parents were so...well, their relationship was, at the least, highly dysfunctional. Maeglin was young, so young for an elf, when he came to Gondolin. I don't think he knew how to live with the elves there and he was smart, but not so much when it came to societal norms. My hope was always that he found some healing in Mandos, and maybe? Found out what love truly is._


	30. Chapter 30: Mixed Feelings

_**Prompt: Mixed Feelings**_

* * *

"That was a long tale." Gimli combs fingers through his beard, gazing out at the night. "Was she real, this Mithrellas?"

"As real as you or I."

He shakes his head. "You Elves and your sad tales. Are there no happy endings for those who love another kindred?"

I think of Lúthien and Beren. Was theirs a happy ending? They were together at least. Or Tuor and Idril, though none this side of the sea know how that ended. I count Eärendil and Elwing as sad, for he sails the starry sea and she ... she waits, or so the tales say. I hope she's found better things to do than wait. "What of your Dwarven tales, Gimli? Do they tell of any happy endings for such pairs?"

Quiet a moment, he shakes his head. "Nay, lad." He meets my gaze, thoughtful. "Aragorn and his lady..."

I know their love has survived much already. Long years with nothing but hope and two hearts that were resolutely true to one another. "I think they will give us new songs to sing, Gimli. Happier ones."

With a nod, he stands. "Well then! A Dwarven tale now, Master Elf! Sit, and listen..."

* * *

 _Thank you for reading and for commenting. I apologize for not replying personally - December is sad for me, and January as well. But please do believe me when I say I really appreciate every one. Take care._


	31. Chapter 31: Hatred

_**Prompt: Hatred**_

 _(POV of Ecthelion on the re-embodiment of his Telerin grandfather)_

* * *

It has been a long time. Too long, for Grandfather thinks in ways that no longer make sense. Ways that would split open the still-sensitive scar tissue of the old wound. One only has to say the name.

 **Alqualondë**.

Opinions will fly and so will fists! They say the Noldor are hot-blooded, the creators, always seeking more, always pushing. That Teler are content with the sea and stars and have no need for more. They say it like a slur, as if we are lazy and offer nothing of value.

I refuse to be drawn into that argument. My blood is mixed with both kindred. I see strengths and talents in each that complement one another. Maglor was Noldorin and one of the greatest Bards trained in Alqualondë. I fought and died in the defense of a Noldorin High King and yet my mother comes from an unbroken line of Telerin bards and instrument makers.

Yes, the ships were beautiful and can never be re-made.

Yes, the theft of the Silmarils terrible.

Ships. Jewels. They are not living, breathing folk. What is most important?

The shining soul I see in a smile. That is what is worth dying ...and living for.


	32. Chapter 32: The Nature of Evil

_**Prompt: The Nature of Evil**_

* * *

There are those who will feel pity for someone who has done evil deeds, citing childhood problems or the influence of others.

I tell you this. Each person must be responsible for their own actions once they are of adult status. It will not do to place blame upon society or others. You and you alone must determine the course of your life, and your actions and thoughts will show this clearly.

I am not sad nor sorrowful as I see the tower fall. Many years has this one tormented the good folk of Middle-earth.

Ilúvatar have mercy on him.


	33. Chapter 33: Hunting

**_Before you read on,_** _ **read this**_ _. No, really. This is AU. **Very** AU. It's not slash, it's broship. What happened to them to get here? Why did it happen? I don't know. Let me know what you think. It's also waaaay over the word limit. C'est la guerre._

 _ **Prompt: Hunting**_

* * *

The knife slid in easily, so quickly through clothing, flesh, not once striking bone and he held his breath as he heard the gasp, the gurgle and let the weight of the man carry the knife and his arm down with it to the ground.

Quick, silent. Wiping the blade, he crouched and looked around, ears sharp for any sounds. He froze as a shadow, lighter than the rest (how had he missed it) floated forward. No, not floated; it was the smooth gait of the man that made it look like he was floating. Had to be. No one floated. Must be a smooth gait and the midnight deep flow of his cloak. Inside the cloak something glowed blue. Not the blue of sky, or water, this was somehow far more eerie.

"Stand away." Was the idiot deaf? The stranger moved forward smoothly and stopped just a hairs-breath out of knife range. Another of their kind? No, there was no guild marking, no fold of his cloak that signed him as guild.

"What did he do to you?"

He took a step back, knife ready, held against his leg where the cloak hid the gleam of the metal and shook his head. Dirty brown hair fell in his face, and he shook his head again, encouraging more to fall, to cover his face from the sharp eyes watching within that cloak. He felt exposed, bare, and took another step into the shadows. "Naught but what needed to be done." He wanted away from this stranger. There was a gathering power in that eerie gleaming, something that set the hair of his neck crawling like ants on his skin.

"I could call the King's Watch on you."

A cautious glance, just a second, that was all it was, the time it took for a quick gasp of air and then the stranger was there, almost on him. He brought the knife up, felt his wrist caught but never even saw movement and gasped again as fingers dug into his tendons. His fingers weakened, and just as the knife would have fallen, the stranger caught it, flipping it handily to hold it at the hilt.

"You're too good for this, and yes, I see the guild mark." The stranger also saw the second blade and caught the other hand neatly in a strong grip. White teeth showed as he smiled. "Don't add kin-slaying to your sins. They're adding up fast."

"As are the lice." The second voice was far more disdainful, with accents that dripped of ballrooms, silken divans and gilded platters.

"I bathed last week!"

"Last week." One golden brow rose as the newcomer stepped to the side of the cloaked man. "So recently? Dispatch him and let us be on our way. We have much to do."

"D…dispatch. That…I know what that means. I'm guild! You cannot kill me! They'll bury you after they string you up by your balls and throw your bodies to the rats!"

A smirk curled the lordly one's mouth. "He actually managed a new threat. Kill him quickly, Erestor. He amused me."

"It was your turn." Yet before he was done speaking the knife slid into the man's heart, smooth and breathless as the caress of a lover. He arranged the body near the first. "They'll think it was a mark gone bad."

"Námo doesn't care." A gesture, two fingers up, quick motion down and the two bodies glowed the same blue as the pair who watched. A pop of sound, something like air gone out of a lung suddenly, and the bodies dulled to black shapes on the cobblestones. "There. He's satisfied."

"For now." Pushing back his black hair, Erestor smirked at his companion. "How many more tonight?"

"Just three." Blue eyes gleamed as the golden-haired of the pair accepted the knife. "I wager I can take two down before you could even dispatch this one."

Dark eyes rolled. "Glorfindel, you never cease to amuse me."

"That's what Námo said."

"Yes, and look where we are."

The night was silent a moment as the pair moved on. "Admit it, my friend. It is better than being locked up in Mandos' Halls for all of eternity. What would we do but float about, bodiless, and feed ourselves on memories?"

"You annoyed Námo."

A low chuckle. "It worked, didn't it?"

"You have a very odd idea of existence."

"So long as I am with you, Erestor. So long as I am with you."


	34. Chapter 34: Lifeline

**Prompt: Lifeline**

 _Then suddenly he beheld his sister, Éowyn as she lay, and he knew her. He stood a moment as a man who is pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then his face went deathly white, and a cold fury rose in him, so that all speech failed him for a while._

'The Battle of the Pelennor Fields', The Return of the King

* * *

Her hand is cold. Too cold as I clasp it between mine. I wish I had seen how desperate she was to be free, but I was caught up with other concerns.

"Sister." I lean forward and wish with all that is in me that she would awaken. So much is gone, so many dead, and still we face a possible end.

I would not lose this one fierce heart as well. I cannot! She is all that I have left of kin, and dearer to me than she ever knew, I fear.

"Come back to me, Éowyn. Please."


	35. Chapter 35: Dreams and Fantasies

**Prompt: Dreams and Fantasies**

* * *

 _"Stomped on by an Oliphaunt?"_

 _The spirit of the man quaked but he shook his head. "No, my lord."_

 _"Hmm." Gleaming eyes of silver studied the form before him. "Trampled by horses?"_

 _"Er..no." With a gulp he added, "My lord."_

 _"I know!" Namo snapped his fingers. "Crushed by cosplayers offered a free gift at Comicon!"_

 _"Comi..." Now almost crying, the spirit of the slain Easterling fell to his knees. "An arrow, my lord. I was slain by an arrow."_

 _"How commonplace. Oh well, off you go." Namo picked him up, patted his head and sent him on._

"Pippin! No more cider for you!"

"I told you it was a strange dream!"

* * *

Gomen, gomen. Was a _very_ long day!


	36. Chapter 36: I Know You, But Where?

_**Prompt: I Know You, But Where?**_

 _I am behind on replies again! Please know that I cherish, love and coo over every review. ...okay, I don't coo so much as squee! Points if you know the online comic character who squees! He shares a name with a popular TV character. ;)_

 _It probably helps to know Bronwe is my OC from Fields of Gold. Reader, you ROCK!_

* * *

Fading was not supposed to be this. We had believed it was losing the will to live and slowly slipping the bonds of life.

"May I help you?"

There is no trace of recognition in her eyes, no sign that she remembers...

Anything.

The lines of her face are engraved in my memory. On my soul. How could I ever forget?

Yet, she has.

I offer a polite bow. "Forgive me. I must have the wrong address."

I feel her gaze follow, but she does not.

Is this true fading then? Not even recognizing your own beloved?

* * *

 _Okay, strange dream I had where Glorfindel and Erestor are in 1890's or Sherlockian era England looking for Bronwe who, of course, never sailed West. She has faded, but not like they expected - she's become less elvish and more human. So much so she doesn't recognize Glorfindel. I know! o; where do these awful ideas keep coming from?_


	37. Chapter 37: Fight On

_**Prompt: Fight On**_

 _This is movie-verse. I've always wondered about that scene where Elrond shows up in the Rohirrm camp with_ _Andúril_ _. Seriously? He rode *all* that way to deliver a sword and then just left? Lots of problems in my mind with that but fun fodder for fanfics!_

* * *

"Do you bring more elves to help us fight?" I had been reluctant to accept their help at Helm's Deep, but we were outnumbered and though not a huge army, the archers the Elves had brought had been a boon. There is a light in the elf's gaze, a fey thing. It looks as though a distant star shimmers and dances in his blue eyes. I look away for his gaze is deep, as though he can see through me to the very heart of my doubt.

"No, _Théoden_ King." His voice is low and there is a note in it that reminds me of the deep sonorous tone of bells.

"Did Lord Elrond send you to fight with us?" For I have learned that while elves look lean and lack brawn, they are deceptively strong and fearfully fast. The one looks to be a warrior, and carries a sword as if one born to fight.

"I bring you Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

He steps to one side and I see then the man standing by my standard. He is tall as all Elves seem to be, and there is something about him, though his cloak is dusty and mud crusts the hem, that tell me he is no less a king than I. "Lord Elrond." I try to hide my surprise. First archers comes in his name and now the Elf-Lord himself? "Do you bring us another army?"

The grey eyes are weary, but I see steel beneath the exhaustion. "I have come for Aragorn."

"He is here." I am cautious. We need every fighting man, and Aragorn has proven himself mighty among men. "We would feel his loss sorely. We ride to Gondor's aid, Lord Elrond. It is a desperate hour for mankind."

The dark head bows and when he looks up the grey eyes are adamantine. "I give you hope, _Théoden_ King, though you might not see it as such."

His words are a riddle and I have little time to bandy words with elves who have all eternity stretched before them. I wave one of my men over. "Take Lord Elrond to my tent then bring Lord Aragorn to him." The bitterness cannot help but show in my gaze, but I care not. "Safe travels to you, Lord Elrond. I will not see you again, for we ride to ruin."

The hand that stays me as I walk away is shocking and I nearly pull my dagger before I realize it is the golden-haired Elf who accompanied his lord. "Do not give in to despair, _Théoden_ King. Many pieces are moving upon this board of battle, some which will arrive unforeseen."

"I see only what my eyes show me." I pull my arm away and walk past him. Morning will dawn and we must ride to fight on, whatever the cost.


	38. Chapter 38: Deadline

_**Prompt: Deadline**_

 _For Quarterhorseranch, who asked for cuddly. I hope this works! :) I love Faramir, and seeing him happy and loved is a good thing. Thank you all for reading. *hug*_

* * *

The words are not coming to me, and I look out the window to see daylight is fading. Elessar has asked to have my thoughts on this treaty. We meet tomorrow, but my mind is blank.

"Ada!"

I smile at the sound of small feet running and push my chair back in time to catch up my youngest daughter. She throws her arms around me and presses a kiss to my cheek with a loud smack. "Ada!"

"Mmm..." I hold her and smell her hair. "You smell of spring and flowers, Léofwyn."

"Ada, come see!" She wriggles out of my arms and tugs at my hand. "Remember the dead balls Nana planted? They are making flowers!"

"Are they?"

"Yes!" Another tug, this one stronger. "Come and see!"

I cannot resist and so we go see the miracle of spring.

Much later when the candles are lit and my family is asleep, I find I can concentrate and easily write out my thoughts. On my desk, there is a small purple flower, one of those who venture upwards earlier than others. Léofwyn left it there in a small clay jar. She said I needed to bring some outside in with me so that I could think. I touch it and smile. My children are wise, sometimes far wiser than their mother or I. They live and grow in a time of peace, watched over by the king we have only dreamed of for many centuries. My work is important, and I will do all I can to support Elessar.

But the flower reminds me there is more to life than deadlines and treaties. There is the laughter of children, the smile and love of my wife and the beauty of this land.

And those... Those are worth all that we sacrificed.


	39. Chapter 39: Far-fetched

_**Prompt: Far-Fetched**_

 _This is crackfic, my friends! D and I were talking about characters in the modern world and he challenged me to make a certain someone an Uber driver. Not sure I did a great job, but challenge accepted! For D, who laughs at my jokes and puts up with my love of words._

* * *

"Where too, friend?"

I'm reading a text, trying to remember the presentation coming up and what appointments I have that day. I rattle off an address that is more home than my apartment and sit back. As the car starts forward there is a faint sound of bells jingling but I ignore the oddity to answer my colleague's impatient text.

It's a fair way across town to get to my office, so I scroll through emails, trying to get an edge on the day's work.

"What do you do for a living?"

"Hmm?" I look up and find he's looking at me in the rear-view mirror. "Uh...medical consultant." It's disconcerting, that look. The eyes are bluer than they should be and ...is that really his hair? I know a few model friends who would _kill_ to get that shade of blond! I turn to my phone again, but this guy, he's one of those friendly, chatty types.

"Ah, a healer. I have several friends who are healers. Back home."

"Where's home?" I ask to be polite, but glance up.

"Quite a ways from here!"

He grins and I feel poleaxed. Why is this guy driving Uber when he could be in Hollywood making millions with his looks and charm? A chill sweeps over me. Oh no. Is this guy a serial killer? They say they're charming and good looking and... "Um...hey, this isn't the way to my office."

"It isn't?" He leans forward to consult the GPS and taps it. "Asfaloth! Noro lim! The lady is in a hurry!"

Asfaloth? Okay, so...he's what, Swedish? Or something? Before long, we're back on the highway and passing cars left and right. I grip the seatbelt, knuckles white, and remember prayers I haven't said since I was a child. "Aren't you going a little fast?"

He's humming, and I have to admit, he has a good voice. "Oh, don't worry! Asfaloth is very fast, but he has never lost a rider yet!"

Okay, he's a jolly psychopath. Wonderful! "M..maybe just drop me off on -"

"I could not do that! You paid for the entire fare, miss."

And suddenly gentle light fills the car, and I feel a sense of peace wash over me. "Right. Thanks."

The rest of the ride is a blur. He pays the toll at the bridge and we go over without incident, and take the first exit. I see my building, one street up from the river and start gathering my things. "Thank you, Mr..." I seem to have forgotten the name on the Uber app.

We pull up in front of my building over twenty minutes earlier than any Uber ride I've ever taken and he turns to smile. "Laurë. Just Laurë. Have a wonderful day, miss!"

I watch the white SUV pull away and disappear quickly into traffic and have to smile. He's crazy, but you never know what you'll get with Uber and hey, I'm early enough to get a coffee!


	40. Chapter 40: Valinor

_**Prompt: Valinor**_

 _I always wondered who had the honor of sailing Sam to Aman. I really doubt it went down like this, but then again...  
_

* * *

" ** _He_** already got to go back once."

"Samwise won't know you. He will remember me."

"You barely spoke with him, Erestor!" Lindir crossed his arms and shook his head. "I spoke with him several times."

With a shrug, Glorfindel sat on the ground before sprawling backwards to look at the clouds in the skies. "I'm content to remain here."

"Gentlemen, a word, please." Celebrían smiled as silence fell around the circle of elves. "Thank you. I suggest we let Frodo decide."

A chuckle from the ground was Glorfindel. "Always said she was smarter than the lot of us."

"Thank you, Lady Celebrían." Frodo, silver in his hair, but still bright of eye, smiled. "I suggest Lord Elrond. Sam knows him and..." Clasping his hands together, he sighed. "I think a healer would be a good idea."

"You think he is wounded?" Glorfindel sat up, suddenly somber.

"Not wounds you could see, but he will be weary and heart sore from losing Rosie."

Erestor nodded and looked at Lindir. "I agree."

Celebrían smiled. "And he cannot leave me behind so I will go also."

Frodo sat next to Glorfindel and smiled. "She _is_ wise. I cannot wait for Sam to arrive!"


	41. Chapter 41: First Word

_**Prompt: First Word**_

 _For Arianka, who requested more of these two (from Fields of Gold, Until We Rise and Cast My Soul to the Sea). Hopefully this is a bit sweeter than the last!  
_

* * *

"What do you think was the first word the Awakened spoke?"

Capturing the hand that was pointing upwards towards the stars above them, Glorfindel brought it to his lips to kiss before resting it upon his chest. "Beautiful?"

"You think they spoke that quickly?"

"Hmm." Pursing his lips, he considered. "Perhaps not. What about 'I'm hungry.'"

She laughed. "I think my first thought would be who are all of you?"

"But would they know how to conceptualize a feeling?" Turning his head, he waggled an eyebrow. "I think it was more likely, _'Hellooooo_...what's _**your**_ name?'"

"That could be said without words." Bronwe laughed. "Yes, just like that." Her gaze went to the stars again, brilliant in the black of the sky. "Perhaps they simply sang." She slanted a look at him. "Though it is said the wives only had eyes for their mates."

"Who had only eyes for the stars, the fools." Pulling her down to him, Glorfindel traced a hand along her face. "I know what my first word would be."

"What is that?"

 _"Vanimelda."  
_

* * *

 _Thank you for reading! :)_


	42. Chapter 42: From Afar

_"For indeed she whom he had loved was Amarië of the Vanyar, and was not permitted to go with him into exile."_

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Grey Annals

 _ **Prompt: From Afar**_

* * *

They kept me from going with him the first time. I was too young, still young enough to be under my parent's protection, and so I was denied.

He crossed the ice and was a world away from me when he died.

But the world changed after the sun and moon, and so did I, and this time...

This time nothing would keep me from going.

The captain is a weathered soul, fey and fearsome. He suffers the soldiers to come aboard and he carries them across the sea.

But he remembers, and so he will not set foot upon the shores where those who killed his family and burned his ships went.

He spits into his hand, mutters a phrase and turns his hand towards the land. Then he remembers that I stand on deck, and he turns to meet my gaze. "Will you not go ashore, my lady?"

"No more than you, my lord." I look upon the land and wonder; what was it my beloved found so alluring? The race of Man? No, he left before any of us knew of their coming. It was the lure of what we had left behind that drew him. To see what his grandfather had seen and walk the lands where our people had awakened. But I had no such love for Endor. It was where he died, where his blood soaked into the earth.

You do not walk on sacred ground.

"Does it help. To see the land?"

"Eönwë says the will sink it beneath the waves." I turn my back on the land, and look westward, towards home. Home, where he will one day walk in the tall grasses with me, unblemished and whole. "That is what I came to see, my lord. To see this land sink and nevermore be there for all to walk upon."

He nods slowly. "Never will the Exiles walk our docks. If they want to sail they can do so from Tol Eressëa."

We are in perfect understanding. Forgiveness is a hard thing, especially for those who do not forget. My beloved cherished this land, and its people. Perhaps once he is with me again I will hear his stories and I will understand.

So many died here. Perhaps it is fitting that the Valar sink the land, removing not only Melkor's taint but assuring this land will forever be out of reach for those who would come seeking curiosities and mementos of those long dead.

Findaráto will walk in Aman again.

And my waiting from afar will finally be over.

* * *

Findaráto - Finrod's name in Aman

Melkor - Morgoth

 _A/N: Not so great, sorry! If you have a favorite character you want me to write, let me know. I'll give it a go_

 _Thanks for reading!_


	43. Chapter 43: Crossing the Line

_**Prompt: Crossing the Line**_

 _Note: I am not mocking "girl falls into M-e" stories. I just find them a bit sad for the most part and wish ...well. I let Galadriel say it.  
_

* * *

"Another one?"

Haldir smirked. "Lord Elrond sends her with his regards." He gently pushed her down to sit in a chair and stood behind her.

Galadriel studied the girl who had red/gold/raven's wing black hair and violet/startling green eyes. They were all strikingly beautiful, these girls Elrond sent. There was just something about Rivendell that seemed to create them. "Do you wish to go home, child?"

"I AM home!"

Always petulant, always insisting they be set free to accomplish some great deed that no one else could. Galadriel walked around the girl before stopping in front of her. "What is your name?"

"Ariathiniaperfectia Elbereth Undomiel, Princess of -"

"Of course." Galadriel did not shrug, that was too common, but she did smile slowly and allow the girl to see the true power of an Elf born of Aman, trained by a Maia and imbued with the natural gift of seeing right through a person to their very core. "I need you to be who you truly are."

Raising her chin, Ariathiniaperfectia Elbereth Undomiel shook her head. "This is who I truly am."

"No, child. You are more than this." Galadriel raised her hand and the glamour dropped away, revealing a perfectly ordinary, and perfectly normal human girl. "Child." Galadriel leaned forward, holding the girl's distraught gaze. "You have no need to wish to be someone else. To wish to be someone else is a perfect waste of who you are, and you do not know yet what you might become." She smiled and leaned down to kiss the girl's forehead. "Go now and make a difference in _your_ world."

Haldir watched as the girl shimmered then disappeared and shook his head. "Why do they keep coming here?"

"They want to be beautiful and smart and do something amazing." Straightening, Galadriel sighed. "And you should be flattered, Haldir. They come here because this world holds beauty and wonder that they think doesn't exist in their world. If they only knew."

"Knew what, milady?"

She smiled and walked past him, stopping to offer one last enigmatic smile. "What a difference each of them can make in someone else's life, and possibly, in their world. All it takes is a smile, a kind word, a kind deed. There are more ways to turn back the darkness than fighting with swords or an army."

Haldir nodded and turned to return to his work. "The smallest deeds," he murmured with a smile.

* * *

 _These are too long to be true drabbles, I know, but sometimes what I want to say takes longer, dangit. So yes, thank you for pointing that out, reader! You are exactly right and no, I probably won't cut them down but you know, this is fanfic and I do it for fun. Thank you for reading! :)_


	44. Chapter 44: Anatomy

_**Prompt: Anatomy**_

* * *

He was drowsy from lying in the sun, but the sensation of being watched was so strong that Frodo cracked one eye open to see who was on Frodo-Watch now. To his surprise it was a child. An elven child crouched next to him, and she was staring at his feet with a curious look on her face. Hiding his smile, Frodo pretended to yawn and stretch before finally opening his eyes. Feigning surprise at seeing her, he sat up and smiled. "Hallo."

"Your feet are furry. And quite large."

Wiggling his toes, Frodo pretended to study his feet. "Why, I believe you're quite right!"

The child giggled and sat cross-legged. "I've never seen anyone like you. You have ears like mine, and you're only about as tall as me, but you have lines on your face."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty."

"Well, I am fifty-four years old." He had to chuckle at the dismayed look on the child's face. "Does that surprise you?"

"How can you be only barely an adult and be so old? I've never seen anyone with lines on their faces." She leaned closer. "Do they hurt?"

"No." He wondered whose child this was. Usually elven parents were quite vigilant, though he supposed in Aman there was little that was going to hurt a child other than their own curiosity and propensity to get into mischief.

"Lisse." A very tall elf came striding across the grass and stopped when he reached them. He bowed to Frodo. "My apologies, Master Baggins. Was she interrogating you?"

"Uncle Thel!" Giggling, she stood and hopped over Frodo's legs to take the elf's hand in both of hers. "I asked him why his feet are hairy and if the lines on his face hurt."

"Oh, is _that_ all." Meeting Frodo's gaze, and seeing amusement there, Ecthelion shook his head. "Forgive us. We didn't mean to disturb you."

"You haven't." Frodo smiled. "I was just thinking of going in and seeing if there were any biscuits and tea to be had. Would you like to join me?"

"Please?" Lisse leaned in against her uncle. "I won't ask any more questions."

Ecthelion arched an eyebrow. "Truly?"

"Well...no." She wrinkled her nose. "I am curious. Is that so bad a thing? Atar says I am perspa... Persipicious."

Frodo watched Ecthelion as he took that in and unsuccessfully hid a smile. "Persistent?"

"Perspicacious is what he said but truly you're simply a very curious child." He tapped her nose before turning his attention back to Frodo. "Thank you, Master Baggins. We would be honored to join you."

"Please." Frodo stood and smiled. "Just call me Frodo."

"Will you tell me why your feet are hairy?"

"Have you ever seen a Dwarf?"

Lisse fell in next to Frodo, leaving her uncle to trail behind them. "No, not a real one. I've seen sculptures and drawings."

"They have very long beards, you know."

"What's a beard?"

Ecthelion shook his head. This could be a very long afternoon!

* * *

 _A/N: Yes, the same Lisse from "Back to the Beginning Again". I believe in recycling. ;) Thank you for reading!_


	45. Chapter 45: Earth

_I wanted to say thank you here (because I'm short on time and I *will* get back to you each) to anyone reading this, but especially to Certh, Elfinabottle, Quarterhorseranch, Arianka, Lady Lindariel, and KiyaNamiel (who leaves THE most enthusiastic reviews evah). You critique and laugh and I love it. And yep, I have absolutely zip coolness cred. ;p  
_

 ** _Prompt: Earth_**

* * *

"I thought I would miss the sea more."

Her black hair ripples in the wind like a banner of sable and I cannot help but reach out to capture a long strand, letting it slide around my finger. "Do you not? The tang of the water, the sound of the waves. The cry of the gulls."

She laughs and leans in to kiss me. It is a while before I let her go and she caresses my face. "For a man who has only seen the sea a handful of times, you describe it vividly, Eomer."

I nod and lift my gaze to the tall, golden grasses that stretch for league upon league around us. "I found so much water strange at first. Almost overwhelming in size and depth and power." I take her hand in mine and dig our fingers into the loose soil. "But this is a sea as well, though not so deep, nor so mysterious. This land, the grasses that roll like waves in the wind, it is our sea here. We gain our sustenance from it, and the thunder of our horses hooves ring deep in the earth. We are tied to this land, rooted in it, bound to it. The bones of our ancestors are entombed in its depths, and some say we echo its bounty." I set my hand on the gently rounded mound of her belly and marvel yet again at the life she carries.

"And some say the Rohirrm have no poetry in their souls."

"Perhaps they just haven't inspired us to share." She turns and leans into me, resting her head on my chest as I enfold her in my arms.

"Listen to the sea," she murmurs, eyes closed, as the wind sweeps across the grasses and sets them rolling.

* * *

 _My apologies to those who write this pair and know them better than I. When I think of the Rohirrm, I think of their land, and horses. To me they are, even as the elves, rooted deep in their land, and reflect its strength and beauty. Thank you for reading!_


	46. Chapter 46: Rebellion

_**Prompt: Rebellion**_

* * *

"Oh! What if you put Curufin and Eärendil in the same room and just let them fight it out!"

"...How is that a story?"

"It's entertaining. Who doesn't want to see Eärendil beat the snot out of a Curufin for killing his wife's family?"

"Plenty of people, Muse. Besides, he was killed along with two brothers in that kinslaying. What else?"

"Wait, what people?"

"There are people who think the Teleri started the whole thing by not giving their boats to the Noldor."

"WHAT?! And how is that different than Fëanor refusing to hand over the Silmarils to help the Trees live again?"

"I didn't write the story, Muse. Look, I just need an idea for-"

"This is outrageous! You need to write a story where ...where **ALL** the sons of Fëanor get pink mohawks and have to wear Hello Kitty! hoodies and -"

"Muse?"

"Maybe have to ride My Little Ponies into battle. Their battle cry can be, 'TACOOOOOOOOOOOS!'"

..."Is that all you have for me?"

"What? That's _awesome_ stuff! Write it."

"No!"

"It's great! You'll get a million hits and-"

"I'm not writing that."

"YOU."

"What?"

"Are no fun. I quit."

"Fine! I'm going to go write...WAR AND PEACE FANFIC!"

"HA!"

"HA!"

...

...

"What if they -"

 _And so it goes._


	47. Chapter 47: Feuds

_**Prompt:**_ _ **Feuds**_

 _Mostly movieverse._

* * *

Rúmil pointed and offered a slight smile. "Where he often is."

"Of course." Aragorn offered his thanks and began the long walk up the winding staircase of the giant Mallorn. He found Haldir beyond the talan, in the very highest branches that swayed under his weight. As a child, Aragorn would have scrambled up into the slightest branches to join him, but where an elf might walk upon snow or the very slimmest of branches, a man must wait.

"I heard you coming up the stairs, Dúnadan." The smile was not unkind, though there was a hint of condescension in the drawling voice. This was Haldir, after all.

Aragorn shook his head. "Not all of us are light as a feather." He watched as the elf leaped lightly from limb to limb, barely disturbing a leaf, before standing next to the man. Not a hair out of place. "Or delight in teasing others with their shortcomings."

"Oh, come now. The Dwarf was insufferably loud."

"Gimli has a good heart."

"Aragorn." Looking as if he tasted something sour, Haldir shook his head. "He was rude and insulting in _our_ kingdom."

Studying the elf before him, Aragorn nodded slowly. "He was, but you must admit our welcome was anything but warm."

"So we hurt his pride." A shrug and Haldir leaped down to a lower limb before turning. "I will not apologize."

"Of course not, Haldir," Aragorn carefully climbed down to the stronger limbs before leaping to the talan. "I know not what caused this rift between you and his people, but ..." The musical laugh followed by a more bass tone sounded out of place in the otherworldly peace of Lothlórien. He smiled and looked down though the branches and leaves to the ground where two figures walked. "Look there. Those two began this journey insulting and biting at one another at any opportunity. The feud was not of their own making, but that of their fathers, and both have loyal hearts." He watched Gimli grin at something Legolas said and watched until they disappeared from view. "It is good to see them set it aside. They have more in common than they yet know."

"Legolas is young, Dúnadan. The insult was not to him, as you said." He walked to the stairs before turning slowly. "I cannot forget."

"I know." Elven memory was phenomenal, but it could be a bitter wound that never faded. "I would not expect it of you."

The smile was quick. "You learned well Erestor's manner of slighting without outright insult."

"I-" Aragorn sighed as the elf laughed. "My wits are not sharp enough for this tonight, my friend."

Haldir's nod was a dismissal. "Go. Rest." He paused in the shadow of the tree, silver-gold hair catching the breeze. "Your Gimli might prove to be more honorable than his ancestors. If so, I will be pleasantly surprised."

He was gone without another sound before Aragorn could say a word. He rubbed his face and thanked Ilúvatar once again he was a Man and would not have to live for thousands of years with the sharp ache of old wounds. One lifetime was more than enough.

* * *

 _Movie Haldir always makes me laugh. He's just *so* arrogant, but I love him. Maybe I'll try to tackle the Helm's Deep debacle the movies made. I do have some very strong opinons about how *that* should have gone! Thank you for reading!_


	48. Chapter 48: Language Lesson

_**Prompt: Language Lesson**_

* * *

The boy sighed and took his hands off the harp. "Why do I have to learn this? It won't help me fight." He looked at his hands, grimacing at the stinging in his fingertips. "This is a waste of time!"

"Stay put, youngling." Maglor pressed the boy back into the chair. "Look at me, Elros." Such rebellious eyes. The boy had fire and drive but always wanted to be elsewhere. Doing something else. So quick to temper and so impatient with the 'gentler' arts. "Set the harp down before you break a string, please."

"It's a stupid instrument." Setting it down with a thump, the boy slumped in his chair and crossed his arms.

Maglor picked the harp up and began to play idle melodies. "My brothers said the same thing. Said I was wasting my time. I know my father never quite understood why I studied music."

"He wanted you to work at the forge and do great things!"

"Likely." The tone of the music changed, becoming sharp, minor tones darkening the mood. "Do you know there was once an army who put musicians at the front, before all else?" Seeing Elros's doubt, he quickened the tempo. "Not here, child. Far, far in the east where heat speeds tempers and cool heads win battles."

"They seriously put a bunch of harpers in front? And what, got massacred?"

"Not all harpers. Some played flutes, others played horns." He bent his head and concentrated on the music, building the theme.

Elros shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling anxious. "So...what happened?" His eyes widened as the music swelled, and suddenly he could see the army, stretching row upon row of archers and behind them men with swords glittering in the heat of the sun. The music pressed against him, filling the air, stealing the breath from his lungs. It was a tangible thing, overwhelming, looming over him. "STOP!"

Maglor's fingers stilled on the harp and as he looked up his grey eyes glittered with anger. "Do you understand now, Elros Eärendilion Stupid, you called it, but with this harp, with my voice, with music..." He set the harp down and leaned forward. "I can madden a crowd and drive them to destruction." He sat back and the look he fixed on the boy was not kind. "I could make you weep, wish you were dead. Music, Elros. It is a language spoken by all people of all races. It needs no interpretation. Do you understand the value now?"

This was not the kindly mentor who had taken in two orphaned boys. Had he forgotten who Maglor Fëanorian was? Straightening his back, meeting the steely gaze, Elros nodded. "Yes, sir. I do."

He would never forget again.


	49. Chapter 49: Run and Run and Run

_**Prompt:**_ _ **Run and Run and Run**_

* * *

Legolas sat in a tree, leg swinging back and forth in time to the tune he was humming. Beneath him, leaning against the trunk, Gimli chuckled over a sketch he was making. "See here, elf! What do you think of this? Queen Arwen asked for a bench, but see what I've done here?"

Leaning forward slightly, Legolas studied the sketch. "It looks as though it cannot make up its mind which direction it will face, Gimli."

"Pah." Gimli waved his hand upwards, batting the booted foot away. "No sense of design if it's not growing and green."

"Tell me then, my fine Dwarf, what is the purpose of such a design." He stood in one smooth move and leaped down to crouch before his friend, eyes dancing merrily. "Usually couples sits side-by-side on a bench. This design separates them."

The laugh was full of crafty happiness, the sound of a dwarf pleased with an idea. "You have no vision, elf! I don't care how many leagues you can see." He held the sketch up. "See here! One faces this way and one faces that way and if you turn towards one another..."

"You get a terrible crick in your neck!"

Gimli snorted, beard and eyebrows bristling. "You, lad, have no romance in your soul." He gazed lovingly at the sketch. "It's a kissing bench!"

"Why, Gimli." Legolas grinned. "I had no idea you had such a romantic streak."

"Of course I do! We dwarves are _very_ romantic! You should hear some of the songs sung back home. Why, they would bring even Gandalf to tears!"

Some of the amusement faded from Legolas' face. "I wish he was here to verify that, Gimli."

"Come now, lad. None of that." Setting the sketch pad aside, Gimli stood and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You'll see him again, and the Lady Galadriel as well." Now there was longing in the hazel eyes as Gimli sighed. "I've tried to match the shade of her hair. There's not a pigment I've found yet that comes close."

Legolas smiled again, and stood. "Shall I show you what I've done for Aragorn and Arwen's anniversary?"

Arching an eyebrow, Gimli met his friend's gaze. "I suppose it's another rose or some such thing you've cultivated just for them?"

Pivoting, fast as an eye blink, Legolas jogged lightly away. "Come and see!"

"Here now, Master Elf!" Gimli snorted and began to walk. "I'm not as young as I once was!"

"You ran and ran and ran once, Gimli!" Legolas jogged back, circling the dwarf who rolled his eyes. "Never was there a Dwarf so nimble!"

"And never was there a more nitwit elf." With a fiendish grin, Gimli snapped out a foot, catching Legolas by surprise. A subtle push was all it took; Legolas tumbled to the ground. With a crow of triumph, Gimli tore off, laughing the entire way. "Let's see now who can run!"

* * *

 ** _Here you have it, my attempt to write something sweet (but not TOO sweet) for Valentine's Day, while filling a prompt that has absolutely nothing to do with it! XD Next prompt will be the 50th and I'm (finally!) half-way through! Suggestions? Thank you for reading xxoo_**


	50. Chapter 50: The Image of Perfection

_With my most sincere apologies to the Carpenters and to anyone who loves this song. My mother found her old sheet music to this song and I howled as she played it because the words? Are. Too. Funny. XD I mean, come on. Tell me Lindir didn't write this just to get at a certain someone. ;) (And yes, I know it works for Thranduil or Legolas as well but hey, I'm a Glorfindel fan since 2002 and I gotta be true.) My apologies for a songfic. Modern one at that! **Not to be taken seriously XD**_

 _Prompt:_ _The Image of Perfection_

* * *

 _Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?_

 _Just like me, they long to be close to you_

I watched his face, his lovely face, go from amused to confused as his gaze immediately zeroed in on Lindir.

Poor Lindir who had discovered the song in some dusty bin in an old store and immediately thought of one person. The very person who, at the moment, was not enjoying the tribute.

"What is that Void-forsaken song-"

 _Why do stars fall down from the sky every time you walk by?_

 _Just like me, they long to be close to you_

A snort and he arched an eyebrow. "Really? Stars, crashing to Arda is a good thing?" His gaze turned to me, eyes narrowing. " Bron! You're in on this too?"

I just smiled and sang along. Sometimes? You just have to tease the one you love.

 _On the day that you were born the angels got together_

 _And decided to create a dream come true_

 _So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue_

I could see the amusement in his eyes. He was enjoying this, despite all the bluster and the pained look he gave me. "Moon dust. Someone should tell Tilion. Then again, humans did walk upon the surface of his vessel so-"

I covered put my hand over his mouth and laughed. "Just listen!"

 _That is why all the girls in town follow you all around_

 _Just like me, they long to be close to you_

"I like that part." He pulled me to him and pressed a kiss to my temple. "Though I don't need groupies. Just you."

"How about Finatics?"

He groaned. " _Bron_."

"Glorfon-"

His turn to cover my mouth, eyes gleaming. "No."

Lindir stood with a sigh. "I'm still here, you know!"

"You don't follow me around either."

"Leaving now!" With a huff, tossing silver hair over his shoulder, Lindir stomped off.

"Thank you, Lindir!" I laughed and kissed Glorfindel's cheek. "Admit it, the song fits you."

"I shall have my revenge, milady." He nodded. "Just wait..."


	51. Chapter 51: Beyond the Circles

_1482 - Death of Mistress Rose, wife of Master Samwise, on Mid-year's Day. On September 22 Master Samwise rides out from Bag End. He comes to the Tower Hills, and is last seen by Elanor, to whom he gives the Red Book afterwards kept by the Fairbairns. Among them the tradition is handed down from Elanor that Samwise passed the Towers, and went to the Grey Havens, and passed over Sea, last of the Ring-bearers._

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, 'Appendix B'

For EverleighBain. Happy Birthday, my friend! Sam was the only one who came to mind for your request. Good, brave Sam. I'm sure there was more than this, but here's what I have to offer. *hug*

 _ **Prompt: Beyond the Circles of the World**_

* * *

He didn't know what to expect, and wasn't sure about anything except he was weary and the ride from the Shire had set his joints to aching something fierce. Slowly dismounting at the entrance to the harbor, he patted his pony and combed his fingers through her long forelock. "This is it, Ginger, old girl. You go back to Elanor, hear? She'll treat you right."

The pony nibbled his coat sleeve and swished her tail.

"Go on, now! Get home!"

"If I might, Master Gamgee, I'll take her to the Tower Hills." A tall elf seemingly appeared out of nowhere, startling Sam. He looked up at the elf who smiled kindly and nodded.

"Oh. Thank you." There wasn't much else to do but walk towards the harbor. The town appeared mostly empty, though Sam saw a few elves moving here and there in the distance. From far away, he heard a sweet voice raised in song. Then the wind caressed his face, bringing with it the tang of the sea, and Sam walked down a gentle path that looked to lead to the sea.

There was a ship there, white and bobbing next to the quay, and Sam paused to draw in a breath. "This is it, Samwise Gamgee. The last time you'll be standin' on the good soil of Middle-earth." He looked around for the crew of the ship but saw no one. "Wonder where everyone is? Is that ship for me?"

"Indeed it is, Samwise Gamgee."

He startled badly, staring up at another tall elf with blue eyes that twinkled with what he thought was merriment. "You elves, always poppin' outta nowhere! I'm old, you know. Too old for nonsense." He scowled as the elf's smile grew larger.

"That would be a shame if it were true, but come now, Master Gamgee. Your ship awaits you."

If he thought it was odd that the strange elf put a hand on his shoulder, Sam said nothing as they walked. He wasn't even nervous and that was strange. After all he was leaving everything he'd ever known.

Again. So maybe it wasn't so unfamiliar. "It's been a long time," he murmured. So long since he had stood on the shores and watched as Frodo had been borne away, into the West, and the sigh and murmur of the waves had caught at his heart.

"I suppose it must seem that way." The elf stopped and looked at him. "But you took to heart those words Frodo spoke, and did much and enjoyed your life."

Sam nodded and sighed. "I did. But when Rosie died..." His throat tightened and he frowned, shaking his head. "I'm tired, sir. Weary to the bone."

"Then come into your rest, Samwise."

Looking up, eyes wide, Sam stared at the person standing next to him. Not the elf who had met him, but someone so familiar Sam just stared in astonishment for a long moment. "Gandalf?"

"Did you think I would let anyone else have this honor?" Eyes twinkling beneath the bushy white brows, Gandalf knelt as Sam blinked back tears. "It is time, Samwise Gamgee, to bring our beloved last ring-bearer to the Undying Lands."

"Frodo." He choked it out, overcome suddenly by emotion.

Gandalf nodded and squeezed his shoulder. "Waiting for you. As are a host of others who are eager to see you again. Are you ready?"

Looking back one last time to where the tall white towers stood on the hills, where Elanor might still be watching, Sam met Gandalf's gaze. "I am."

* * *

He dozed for much of the trip, lulled by the gentle swaying of the swan ship, but awoke when Gandalf took his hand. "Did I miss anything?"

"We are nearing the docks of Tol Eressëa, Samwise. I thought you might want to see -"

Sam scrambled to his feet and trotted out of the small rooms, up the stairs and to the ship's railings, eyes wide. "Is that really the Undying Lands, sir?" He squinted against the sun against the water, eyes watering. He wasn't crying, he told himself, even if it was incredibly beautiful with white shores and a green he'd never even imagined could exist in nature.

A hand on his shoulder told him Gandalf was next to him again. "Do you see them, Samwise?"

He did - tiny figures standing on the edge of a quay, waving at the ship. "Who are they, Gandalf, sir?"

"Friends."

"Oh." He swallowed, suddenly a bit nervous. "Um...is there someone important on the ship then? I mean, besides you, sir?"

"Oh, yes, dear heart. Most certainly."

Well, he'd only seen a few of Lord Círdan's mariners as they tended to the ship, but then his eyes weren't what they had been.

As they drew closer, the ship slowed, grandly sweeping in like the regal swan ship she was, until she slid into the berth and stopped, bobbing in the water.

Then Sam could make out the faces and his jaw dropped. "Frodo." Tears filmed his eyes and he blinked trying to clear his vision. Was he just imagining his beloved friend again?

"SAM!"

Letting out a cry that was from his heart, Sam almost climbed over the railing to get to Frodo, but Gandalf guided him to the ramp and laughed as the grey-haired hobbit ran flat-out to throw his arms around the small figure waiting for him.

Gandalf just stood and watched, his heart filling with the joy of the reunion. Had there ever been two souls so faithful and good-hearted as these two?

"Frodo! Oh, Mr. Frodo, I've wished and hoped to see you for so long! I can't believe this is actually real and I'm not dreaming."

Laughing, Frodo, now with more silver than brown in his curls, took his arm. "You're not dreaming, Sam, and we have all been waiting for the day you could join us."

Gandalf nodded as Elrond, Legolas and Galadriel went forward to greet Sam. "Welcome to your rest, good and a faithful friend. Welcome home."


	52. Chapter 52: Connecting the Dots

_Third Age: 109 Elrond weds Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn_

 _This takes place as part of my stories_ _ _Until We Rise,_ Cast My Soul to the Sea, and Fields of Gold. You don't have to read them to have it make sense. _

_**Prompt: Connecting the Dots**_

* * *

"I scarcely think they want me hanging about." Glorfindel nudged his stallion, rolling his eyes as he tightened the girths. "Stop sucking in air, Cram." He tightened the girths again before turning to his companion. "What?"

"You named him after Dwarvish waybread?"

"No." He took the saddlebag she held out. "I didn't name this beast. You can thank Lindir for that."

"He's the color of Cram." Lindir shrugged and adjusted the carrycase for his small harp before swinging up on his horse.

"Getting back to your leaving-"

"Bron, it's simple."

Lindir snorted. "I've heard that before. I'm going to wait in the shade."

"It just seems odd, you leaving Elrond now. With Gil-galad dead."

Taking her arm, Glorfindel led her over to a bench and sat with her. "It's peaceful for now, and even the realms of Men seem quiet. It's a good time to go see what is going on south of Gondor." Seeing she still wasn't convinced, he sighed. "The last person Celebrían wants around right now is me, Bronwe. She is a new wife and now the Lady of Imladris."

"Why is that a problem?"

Offering a wry smile, he shrugged. "Something about her mother and I not seeing eye-to-eye and her perhaps thinking I seek to subvert her relationship with Elrond."

"What?" Bronwe frowned. "She does not think that. I was at the wedding, lest you forget."

"Yes, and I just think they …need and deserve some time together to figure out how –"

"Enough." She narrowed her eyes. "What is this really about?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Erestor warned me lying to you wouldn't work."

Bronwe leaned closer and took hold of his wrist. "Why are lying? What are you not saying?"

A great deal. Glorfindel met her gaze evenly. "You know there are things I can't discuss with anyone. Not even Elrond. Or you." Two of his closest friends, but there were things he had been shown by the Valar that could not be shared. "I believe there is still much to be known of the East. Gildor has generously consented to let Lindir and myself travel with his group."

Sitting back, she held his gaze and nodded slowly. "Information gathering."

"And leaving the newlyweds alone. I wasn't lying when I said that."

As if they could ever be alone when one was the lord of the haven. "Why not just tell me?"

He stood and held out a hand, keeping it when she stood. "Because you, my dear healer, fret far too much."

"I do not fret!" Pulling her hand free, Bronwe used it to push him back towards his horse. "Fine. Go. Keep your secrets. You're going to stand out with that hair of yours though. The Easterlings are a swarthy folk with dark hair."

"I'll find a way to disguise it."

She really did not want to know. "I would say be careful but I know it's useless."

"I'll be fine." Glorfindel kissed her forehead before turning to swing up on his horse. "Messages will likely come through Círdan and his fisher folk."

Bronwe nodded, resigned. "Stars light your path."

Hand to his heart, Glorfindel nodded and nudged Cram into a trot. He didn't look back and pushed down the tug of sadness he felt at leaving Bronwe standing there alone. He was doing what he was sent back to do to help keep the people of Middle-earth safe from Sauron. If it meant personal sacrifices to make sure others had vital information, then so be it.

"Now you're in a rush?" Lindir caught up to him and would have said more but for the somber expression on his companion's face. "Where are we meeting Gildor?"

"Elostirion." Gildor liked to look to the West, back to home once in a while. Glorfindel found it better to keep looking forward. The past was done. It could not be changed.

There was naught but the present and the hope of a future.


	53. Chapter 53: Tears And Wounds

**Prompts: Tears...Wounds**

" _They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried."_  
― Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried

* * *

My Da, he come home from the war, that's true. But, nights when I hear him yellin' and cryin', nights when Ma comes to our room white-faced with bruises on her wrists, those are nights I don't know the man who came home.

He was hurt, Da was. Lost an arm, cut clean off by an Orc, they said.

He lost more than that, but no one talks 'bout it. It's like some shameful secret that we pretend everyone doesn't know.

I know Da is brave. He was a strong man once, tall and broad across the shoulders. He could carry sacks of grain that other men could barely lift.

But strength of body doesn't mean strength of mind. I know that now. I sat with him in the healer wards, and listened to those men around him screamin'. Like they was bein' tortured, they screamed and I ... I well believe they were.

They lived. They came home.

But that war? It lives on in their minds. All the awful, terrible things they did and saw. They can't forget. Durin' the day, they can stuff it down, keep it in, but at night... Terrors walk the battlefields of their minds at night and ma and me, we cling to each other and cry.

I love my Da. I do. But when he starts staring at nothing and tremblin', I grab Ma and my brother and we leave.

It's better that way. He'd go mad if he hurt one of us. Da ain't a bad man. He just saw things he can't live with, and can't forget.

Was it worth it? I can't answer that. They say a great evil is gone from the world and I don't believe our King would lie. He seems a good, honest man. And he cares.

All the same, truth is also we sent a good man, a loving husband, a caring Da to fight.

And he didn't come home.

* * *

 _Not sweet, not happy, but it's the truth for a lot of men and women who serve. Please, show them respect and show support for their families. The things they come home with are hard._


	54. Chapter 54: Hidden

_"They removed northward higher up the shore; for ever after they had a dread of the water where the dragon lay. He would never again return to his golden bed, but was stretched cold as stone, twisted upon the floor of the shallows. There for ages his huge bones could be seen in calm weather amid the ruined piles of the old town. But few dared to cross the cursed spot, and none dared to dive into the shivering water or recover the precious stones that fell from his rotting carcass."_

The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien

 _ **Prompt: Hidden**_

* * *

It was something we always talked about doing. Every summer when the waters of the lake warmed and the minnows swam thick as clouds in the shallows, we would stand on the edge of the bank and look out.

And wonder.

Were the tales true? Was there really a treasure in the shallows, one no one had dared touch? We wondered why. Why would anyone pass such a boon?

But we were young and thought we were wise and so we decided that the summer of our twelfth year we were going to find out just what was at the bottom of the shallow and why everyone avoided it.

We waited until a banquet was in full-swing before slipping away, sad to miss all the treats, but certain there was treasure and adventure to be found.

It was an early summer evening, the sun still well above the trees, when we stood on the shore, feet bare, pants rolled up, and pushed our boat out. Scrambling in, we began to row towards the part of the lake that everyone had always avoided.

"Doesn't look so odd to me."

I was doing the rowing, so I just nodded. "Tell me when you see something."

"Slow down, slow down!"

I let the oars drag in the water to slow us and peered over the edge of the boat to see what Kell was staring at. "What is that?"

Something was gleaming, dull white, in the water beneath us. "It looks like a fish skeleton."

"Too big." Kell looked up and met my gaze. "Have to be a huge fish, like those in the books."

Kell's ma was a story-teller from Gondor who met and fell in love with a tradesman. She'd brought all her books and stories with her from the White City and Kell knew more about places I'd never even heard about than anyone I knew. Probably more than all the fancy folk in Dale!

"Do they live here?" I'd never seen one, but the idea of monsters swimming beneath us sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

"Nah. The sea, Liw. There are only fish in these waters."

"Too bad." I shipped the oars and leaned over to peer at the water. "It doesn't look that far down."

Kell was prepared. He dropped one of the rocks we'd found at the shore, one about the size of his fist, and watched it sink down. "I think we could swim that deep."

"I can." I stood, confident and started to pull off my tunic.

"Liw!"

"What?" I stopped, one arm trapped and peered at him.

"You can't just take your shirt off anymore. Nana said so."

With a grimace, I wriggled my arm back into the sleeve and glared at him. "I ain't ashamed! Got nothing to be ashamed of, Kell Alwison!" He's started to be strange this summer, starting at me at times, making me wonder if spots had appeared on my face like my older cousin. "Don't even have any breasts yet, you know." I crossed my arms across my still very flat chest and watched him look away with a flinch. "You ain't gonna see nothing new!" How many summers had we swum in nothing but our braes? He'd never said a word and now he was going to protest?

"Just…leave your clothes on." He shook his head, dark hair falling in his face and stood. "I'll go first-"

"Ha!" I dove from the boat before he could say another word, cutting into the water and kicking deeper. I was going to see what was here first! Then no one would dare say I was "just" a girl or "just" the daughter of a woodsman. They had plenty to say already, folk of the Lake. Always had.

As if it was my fault my ma disappeared after I was born. Da said she went back to her folk, but all I know is she was gone.

I felt a tug on my foot and twisted to see Kell letting go of my ankle. I wrinkled my nose and turned to kick deeper.

Then we saw it, gleaming in the low grey light of the lake, shimmering against the dark of the lake bed. Bones. But no fish was this huge, not ever. The ribs arched above us like the limbs of the tallest tree, and the skull was bigger than my da's big draft horse, Solweig! It went as far as I could see, this wonder, and I swam closer to the skull, wanting a better look. Something tugged on my tunic and then Kell caught at my hand, shaking his head. I tried to pull away but he pulled harder.

Then I heard it, a soft, low sound, as if someone…something was laughing.

We turned and twisted, looking to see if someone had followed, but there was only Kell and me.

And the bones of ….we didn't know then what it was.

It grew louder, and I swear to you upon all that I have, it was coming from the skull. I know, I know…this thing was dead. _Dead_! Nothing but bones scattered across the dark bed of a lake, but there was a gleam in that skull that was no fish, and nothing even Kell had ever read about.

My foot bumped the lake floor and I nearly screamed, but just reached to pull away whatever had touched my foot and pushed off.

Up. We clawed our way up through the water, desperate for air and light and the laughter chased after us, nipping at our toes and swirling through the water as if a sound can take form.

Up, we swam and Kell reached the surface first. I thought he'd leap into the boat, but he reached down, reached out to grab my hand and pull me up to his side before pushing me up into the boat. I turned and pulled him in, frantic to escape that laugh and the eerie nothingness chasing us.

It churned the water around our boat, rocking us violently, and Kell grabbed the oars with grim determination. He pulled and pulled, hard and faster than I could have, but for a breathless time it seemed we weren't going to break free. We didn't move, and the water churned and churned, and then finally…

We lurched forward, and I yelled something and Kell pulled on those oars so hard I thought we would fly to the shore.

I heard the boat grind against the sandy shore, gravel stopping us suddenly, and we both sat there, breathing hard, staring at each other in shock. Kell's gaze finally left mine and I turned then, finally brave again, to look behind.

The sun was sinking beneath the treeline, a fiery ball of orange, and for a moment….

Well. You'll think me mad. Maybe I am. But I know what I saw. What we both saw.

Gleaming golden eyes, like coals when they die down and suddenly flare, watching us from just on the surface of the lake. The laugh floated across the water, low and sinuous, twining around our shivering bodies.

And then it was gone with the sunlight, sinking into the twilight grey of the lake.

"Liw."

I didn't turn. Wasn't ready to turn and see in his eyes what I knew was in mine. A warm hand fell on my shoulder and tugged gently. I turned with a shaking breath.

"Liw. Look."

He was holding a rock and I frowned, but then he turned it so the low light of the evening caught it and I drew in a sharp breath. "Kell!"

Eyes fierce, he nodded. "Do you know what this is?"

It was green and too reflective to be even the prettiest lake rock. "It's beautiful."

"This is a gem, Liw. A gem!" He turned it and I saw then that it was the deepest green of a summer forest. "I saw it right as your foot touched the lake bed."

"And you grabbed it?" I shook my head. "What if that thing comes after it?"

"It won't." Kell grinned and the dark hair fell over one grey eye. "There's more for it to guard down there."

I nodded and hoped that he was right.

It's been years now, and nothing ever came after that gem.

We never went back though. Whatever it is that guards that treasure, it's still jealous of its hoard. I don't understand, but… Well, there are strange things in this life. I've seen trees deep in the forest that I would swear blink as if waking up from a deep sleep before dropping back down to slumber. I've heard sweet singing at night, and followed the song to find a troupe of Elves walking a path westward. There was something in those songs that tugged hard at my heart and awakened an ache I can't explain and don't understand.

But there's a stronger pull on my heart these days. Kell came back from visiting his mother's people in Gondor and he was taller and stronger than I remember. I'd changed too, finally started looking like a girl, though it seemed to take forever.

Da says that's cause of my ma's folk. I don't know what he means, but Kell nods and laughs and asks if I'll still love him when he's grey and wrinkled and I'm still young.

Fool of a man. As if I could love another?

Nothing ever came after that gem, not even when Kell took it to Gondor to have made into a necklace and earrings and …oh, many other fine things. I don't know. It's gorgeous, but a dragon's gem will never be more beautiful to me than my Kell.

We stand at the edge of the lake sometimes at sunset and watch to see if glowing eyes appear, but we've never seen anything. Maybe the dragon slumbers, or maybe it's just waiting for more foolish humans to come and awaken it in its hidden depths once again.

After all, dragons never forget.


	55. Chapter 55: Cold

_**Prompt: Cold**_

* * *

"Do you think he's cold, Ada?"

"Who?" Elrond tucked the blanket tighter around his daughter and rested his chin on her soft hair.

"Grandfather Eärendil." Wrinkling her nose, Arwen puffed out a breath to see the white cloud it produced. "It's cold here, and colder up in the mountains, so it must be very freezing up on his ship!" Sucking on the gap in her front teeth, she swung a foot. "I bet he has to break ice off his sails and rigging."

Celebrían hid her smile in the soft fabric of her scarf. They had spent the summer in Mithlond, and Arwen had been fascinated by the Swan Ships. She had followed Círdan around, to his amusement, like a noisy puppy, asking endless questions.

"Perhaps, but Vingilótë is very special, Arwen." Moving the child to sit between Celebrían and himself so as to avoid being kicked, Elrond tapped her nose. "The Valar hallowed it and -"

"Wasn't it already hallow?" Swinging both feet now, she shrugged. "Why would you build a ship out of something solid only to have to hallow it out?"

"Hallowed, sweetling, not hollowed. It means the Valar blessed it and made it sacred."

"Oooooh."

Celebrían watched her daughter, smiling at the frown of concentration as Arwen considered the new fact.

"So...is that why Grandfather Eärendil can't land? Because he's scared?"

"Sacred," Elrond said slowly with a quelling look at his wife who was trying not to laugh. After all, Arwen was very young and Elrohir had similarly confused words around that age. "It means holy."

"It sounds awful, Ada."

Stifling her laugh, Celebrían smiled. "Why don't I go get some cocoa to chase away the cold? You two stay and talk."

She was gone before Elrond could object and he vowed to stick his very cold toes on her legs that night. "Imagine the view he has of the world, Arwen."

Leaning against her father, Arwen snuggled closer as he put his arm around her shoulders. "Ada? Will I have to go up there in the hollow ship that's full of holes?"

He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "You won't have to go up there, Arwen."

"Good! Because I don't think I would like to have to worry about all the stars coming in through the holes. Even if it is hollow."

Closing his eyes, Elrond vowed to remember the conversation for all eternity. She wouldn't always be a tiny girl with big words she confused, but for now it was precious as mithril to him. "We'll stay here then, and just watch the stars."

Arwen nodded then sighed. "But I still need to know, Ada. Is he cold?"

* * *

 _Dedicated to my niece, who also confused words and had us crying in laughter many a night. Love you, kiddo!_


	56. Chapter 56: Countdown

_**Prompt: Countdown**_

* * *

They sit as they do every hundred years. This time the boulder is more rounded, less flat on the top and the wine must be balanced _just so_. The river changed course sometime since last meeting, and no longer sings so loudly, but there is a cheerful waterfall where an ancient tree fell across the river and allows the water to dance across through its branches. The woods are still deep and dark and Men fear it haunted.

"Ironic, isn't it?"

"Which part?"

Thranduil's lips quirk in a wry smile. "Your wife was considered a witch."

"You'd best be careful of your words, Elven King." But the silver eyes gleam with amusement.

"Mmm." Sitting back so that his flaxen hair falls in a silken sheet slinking to the ground, Thranduil regards the wine. "Before too long," he says quietly, so quietly the wind almost carries his words into the woods, "there will no longer be any Dorwinion for us to toast one another."

"They diverted that river of yours, didn't they?"

"What does that have to do with-"

"The mallyrn," Celeborn says, voice hushed in honor of the fallen, "are all but gone. Cut down. Sold for wood." He shakes his head, silver hair flowing around his shoulders like the waters of the river. "I knew it would be hard. Heart-breaking, but I never thought to see it _all_ disappear."

The two Elf-Lords meet each other's gaze for a long moment.

"Has the time finally come?"

"Even Anor has faded." Silver eyes gaze upwards, tracking the sun. "Or is it my eyes that no longer see the beauty?"

Standing abruptly, Thranduil sets his goblet down with a thunk. "We shall build a ship and sail for Aman." Eyes gleaming, he arches an eyebrow. "What say you?"

Always cooler, calmer temperament well-used in dealing with those far more fiery (but not more fierce), Celeborn laughs. "What do you know of boat making, Elven King?"

Thranduil waves a hand, swatting away the doubts. "Timbers that fit together so that it floats. What is there to know?"

"Belain preserve us." Celeborn stands and holds out his hand. "I will be at the Grey Havens in hopes at least one of Círdan's mariners has loitered for all these years thinking we will eventually sail."

"Not Círdan himself?" Thranduil snorts. "Seems rude. Last ship and all that rot."

"He was ancient in the early Fourth Age, Elven King." Laughing, Celeborn grips his friend's hand. "Don't make me wait. I will sail without you."

"You wouldn't dare." Chin rising, the gaze narrowing past his devastatingly straight nose, Thranduil glares. After a long moment of only river song, he sighs. "All right, you would. I won't be late." Scooping up his goblet, he laughs and raises it high. "Hear us, winds! Carry word to the Undying Lands where the Eldar dwell. Once you crossed the ice and sea to trespass on lands our people had long held. You claimed our lands and made them yours, and they sank beneath the waves!" He winks at his friend and laughs again. "Now it is OUR turn, so be ready, oh flame-eyed ones!"

Celeborn laughs softly at the dramatic speech but nods. "Galadriel will surely be trembling in her slippers."

"As she should." Watching his friend walk away, blending into the woods as if a part of them, Thranduil grins. "Aye, we'll have a reunion with our families the likes those Aman-born folk have _never_ seen."


	57. Chapter 57: Retaliation

_"_ Therefore Morgoth issued forth clad in black armour; and he stood before the King like a tower, iron-crowned, and his vast shield, sable unblazoned, cast a shadow over him like a stormcloud. But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice _."_

 _~The Silmarillion_ , Quenta Silmarillion, Ch 18, _Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin_

* * *

 **Prompt: Retaliation**

You, thief, who takes what is good and kind and corrupts and kills, you felt my talons this day. I marked you. I screamed defiance at you, just as this mighty one did.

He marked you and you will forever go forward with a halt to your step.

You have earned it just as you earned the enmity of these Quendi.

We watch you, whisperer of lies, the one who takes the Song, the Music, and warps and wefts it into agony and wailing. Today you were challenged and I watched as Fingolfin fought you.

It was not an easy victory. It cost you, deceiver.

You would throw his broken body to your wolves but I will honor this fallen King of the Quendi, and you will not have him.

I bear him up now to the high places in the mountains and place him gently where none of the foul ones will come to desecrate his body. His son comes and I leave him to his grief.

We watch you, Morgoth, the one who darkens the land and sky. And one day we will see you cast down forever.

* * *

 _Fingolfin! Oh man, I will fangirl this elf forever. And Thorondor, King of Eagles. Read this part alone if you've never read The Silmarillion. It's awesome. Thank you, if you're reading this. March was a hard month and I'm sorry if I didn't answer you. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Take care xx_


	58. Chapter 58: Oaths

Prompt: Oaths

* * *

She remembered each word as if it were branded on her skin, the letters burrowing deep to settle in her heart where they were a constant ache. Was it not punishment enough to be sundered from her husband and sons? Must she be reminded with every glance, every scathing, condemning look and whispered aside, with so many she had called friends shunning her as if the Darkening was alone her fault?

For years she had not spoken, for words had been used bind her sons to a fate that could and would not be denied, and words had severed a bond never meant to be sundered, not until all of Arda ended.

But it had. Nerdanel had sat, dry-eyed and silent, staring sightlessly eastward, hands open on her lap. Too many tears had been cried already, an ocean's worth. Too many angry words; none of them had changed a thing. Not his heart, never his mind.

She had always known he was as selfish as he was generous, and as damaged as he was brilliant. An incomparable jewel with one fatal flaw that had shattered his entire life.

And those who loved him best.

They had sworn an oath once, what seemed a lifetime ago. An oath sworn in laughter and love that had brought forth seven beautiful sons.

It was an empty husk, burned to nothing but ashes by the phoenix of his anger that had risen up to the rally of a new, terrible oath.

Nerdanel stood and looked to the east, and only the wind heard the quiet prayer she whispered before she turned and walked back towards her father's house.

* * *

 _Thank you for reading :)_


	59. Chapter 59: Breaking the Habit

**Prompt: Breaking the Habit**

 _Dedicated to Fiondil, for all the many times I laughed out loud at his Námo (Nate) whom I came to love. I hope you found the other side just as amusing and wonderful as hoped! Namárië...for now. Olórin is Gandalf's name before he came to Middle-earth as an Istar and took up a pointy hat and a fondness for pipeweed._

* * *

"Olórin."

He startled badly at the deep, quiet voice, almost falling off the fence, and spat a word that brought a slow smile to the tall figure dressed in unrelieved black.

"Best not let Varda hear that one."

Sweet stars, no! Coughing as he guiltily tucked the pipe at his side, Olórin straightened and did his best to look unruffled. "Did you require something, my Lord?"

"No." With an unrepentant smile, Námo, Lord of Mandos, Doomsman of the Valar, crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the fence. "That's an interesting habit you acquired in Middle-earth."

"Ah." Not his most clever response. He gathered himself and met the Vala's gaze, noting with no small amount of dread, the amusement lurking in the star-filled gaze. "I..." He sighed. "Yes. Yes, and it is a dreadfully hard one to break."

"And a hard one to hide I should think, at least from the Children, who find the smell highly offensive."

Grimacing, Olórin nodded. "Lord Elrond, at least, would put up with it." He looked up again with a rueful smile. "So long as I was nowhere near his beloved books and scrolls."

"Mmm." Námo nodded, lips still curled in a smile. "Where are you growing the pipeweed?"

Oh...blast. A sigh and he tapped the pipeweed out of the bowl of his pipe, and crushed the embers out completely before answering. "Frodo brought some with him, if you are truly curious, my Lord."

"Did he."

There was amusement in the voice still, but a note of curiosity as well. "There is a patch, a small one as very few share in the habit now that the Hobbits and Gimli are gone. On Tol Eressëa."

"Does anyone share the habit, Olórin?"

"No." The sudden lance of sorrow took him by surprise. Gimli had been the last of the mortal Fellowship to pass and that had been some time ago. "I suppose I am the only one, Lord Námo."

Something twinkled in the dark eyes. Was it... mischief? "You should visit Eärendil some time soon." The laugh sent shivers down Olórin's back. "Perhaps the two of you together could bolster one another in breaking this habit."

Eyebrows rising in surprise, Olórin blinked once. "Well! That...is good to know, my Lord. Thank you." He bowed as Námo walked away, vanishing into the grey light of twilight, leaving one bemused Maia to wonder if, indeed, he was meant to break his pipeweed habit or enjoy a smoke with a fellow connoisseur.

One never knew with that particular Vala.

Chuckling to himself, Olórin stuck his pipe in his mouth and sat back to enjoy the stars.

* * *

 _If you're curious about Fiondil, or his version of Námo, Lord of the Halls of Mandos, you can find the largest collection of his stories at Stories of Arda dot com. EverleighBain, you are THE best encourager EVER._

 _Thank you for reading, as always!_


	60. Chapter 60: Betrayal

Prompt: Betrayal

* * *

'Tis a bitter thing, betrayal. A thing that rots trust and sours the best of natures.

Who would have thought my horse would be so cowardly, so gutless as to retreat at the moment when victory seemed in my grasp? And yet, maddened with fear, the creature would do nothing but flee in the face of the Lord of the Nazgûl.

Even more bitter a betrayal was the Elf-lord who stayed me from pursuit of my enemy, and spoke words those following him held as 'prophecy'. 'Tis utmost absurdity, what he spoke, '... not by hand of man would he fall'. Get in my way again, Lord Glorfindel, and we shall have more than words between us. I wonder...would you recognize me now?

I curse you all for driving me to this, for if I had but been able to defeat my enemy that day I would not now be...

Dead? Nay, I did not die, though my people claimed it so. I rode out to challenge the Lord of the Nazgûl, that is true. They captured me and tormented me, trying to wrench my will to theirs so that Sauron could have a puppet king upon the throne of Gondor. I did not betray my people!

I should have died. I _would_ have died.

Necromancy is what they call it, a perversion of the darkest kind, wresting a living soul from the body and making it...

Undead. Forever longing for death, longing for a good end.

Forever denied the quiet of the tomb.

Stare into my empty, soulless eyes and tell me I deserved this fate. Speak to me of betrayal...if you dare.

* * *

 _Who am I writing about here? Eärnur, the last King of Gondor. In the Battle of Fornost, he rode in pursuit of the Witch-king, but his horse fled in terror. By the time Eärnur got it under control, Glorfindel had shown up with the forces of Imladris and stopped him from confronting the Witch-king, who mocked him. Glorfindel spoke the words of prophecy that were fulfilled by Meriadoc Brandybuck and Éowyn. After Eärnur's father died and he was crowned, he was again challenged to single combat by the Witch-king, who taunted him about his prior disgrace. Eärnur was persuaded not to go. He never married or had children, leaving no heir to the throne of Gondor. Seven years later, the Witch-king again challenged Eärnur, and he left his crown on the lap of his father in the Houses of the Dead before riding out with a small escort of knights._

 _None of them were ever seen again and thus began the rule of the Stewards up until the coronation of Aragorn son of Arathorn, twenty-five generations later. (Info gathered from Tolkien's books, and Tolkien Gateway)._

 _The idea of Eärnur being a wraith is completely_ _not_ _canon and was also used by the LOTR Online Game._


	61. Chapter 61: Hobby

Prompt: Hobby

* * *

"I never knew you had learned to make them, Merry."

Sitting on a hill, the tall summer grass behind them shielding the crickets playing their tunes, the two hobbits surveyed their children and families below. Above the gathered group, in the dark night sky a sudden fiery flower blossomed in delicate reds and greens before slowly fading away. Another rocket shot up in a flash of white and exploded in a shower of blue and gold fireflies that danced down towards the delighted hobbit children who danced and reached, trying to catch the wisps.

"I got bored in Minas Tirith." Merry shifted against the tree until he found a comfortable spot. "Got thinking about the future and how, if Gandalf was leaving like he said, what we were gonna do for times like this. Celebrating Sam's birthday. Should be something big, not just the ordinary, you know?"

Pippin nodded, gaze tracking the three fireballs that rose in the sky to release a shower of color that danced delicately down like rain. "Gandalf actually taught you this?"

"Well..." Merry chuckled. "He told me, 'This is _not_ a simple hobby, Meriadoc Brandybuck!'"

Pippin laughed at his cousin's imitation of the Wizard.

"But yes." Merry nodded, gaze distant. "He taught me how to mix the powders and how to explode the rockets in the proper sequence."

"I'll never forget that dragon," Pippin sighed, remembering how it had terrified the party-goers. "Or his butterflies."

"I can only do simple ones." Merry shrugged. "But my son did these for tonight. He's got the touch, don't you think?"

"Aye." Pippin smiled as the grand finale began, lighting the entire hollow in blues and reds and golds. "Gandalf'd be proud, Merry."

Merry grinned. "I proved him wrong!"

"What? How?"

Merry put his pipe in his mouth and puffed, winking at his cousin. "I didn't blow my fool self up after all!"


	62. Chapter 62: Fountain

Prompt: Fountain

 _It's_ _ **so**_ _far over word count. I don't care. I had fun writing it and it's been a looooong time since I wrote anything fun. AU most certainly? I don't know. It just seemed to write itself. ;) For my Nonno, who bravely left Italy, and my father, who always wanted to go back. Mi manchi, papà._

* * *

He's wandered the world for many centuries, not quite a lost soul, never comfortable in one place for long. The faces he sees, sometimes skin dark, sometimes light, many times a fascinating beauty of color, begin to look familiar after five centuries and he wonders if humans realize how much they resemble their ancestors.

How much for all their differences, they resemble one another.

Unlikely. They don't live long enough and their memories are distressingly short.

He had a name, several, but long ago left it behind, along with the beauty of Aman. Oh, they had said there was no returning to Middle-earth, no going back on the Straight Road, but then humans had come up with space travel and the Noldor had been _all_ over that. Next thing you know, Elves are leaving Aman and exploring where even Feanor could never have imagined.

The odd thought comes to him in the twilight hours of morning; does Eärendil resent the company or is he relieved to finally not be alone in his long voyage across the cathedral of stars? Maybe someday he'll go back and ask him.

But not yet. Earth, that's what the humans call it now, is fascinating and he can't imagine going back to a place where there are only Elves. He would miss the variety of peoples, the shapes of their eyes and noses and bodies. He would miss all the kindreds of humans who surprise him almost daily.

Sometimes in a bad way and he mourns that Morgoth's taint is still so strong.

More often, they surprise him with joy. With a shy smile from a toddler in a store, or a knowing smile from the faded eyes of a wrinkled face. He's grown quite fond of the wrinkled ones - it amazes him how fast they age (doubtless it always will, and it's the one part of his life that he wishes he could change. It's so sad when they leave the world, as if a bright spot of sunlight suddenly is doused to shadow). They love telling him tales of how it used to be, he always smiles, and the old ladies pat his hand and ask him if he's looking for a young woman (and these later days, a young man) because they have a beautiful grand-daughter...

He laughs. It's the same no matter where he goes, no matter what they are calling that part of the land, and no matter what language they're speaking.

Then there is Rome.

It's probably the warmth of the people - they're loud and brash and sometimes unspeakably rude, but the passion that glows through their anger and their joy and their laughter is intoxicating and he loves to be mistaken for a native.

He speaks fluent Italian. Of course. It's a beautiful language and he loves to sing in the evening when lovers are strolling along, arms entwined. He loves the light and the golden stone that seems to glow in the early dawn and sunsets. He loves the mopeds that have absolutely no respect for a pedestrian (Iluvatar help them!) and the horrid, narrow cobblestone roads that worm through the oldest parts of the city.

And the fountains.

The Romans understood a city needed water, not just for drinking, but to carry filth out of a city, and to liven a square.

Why else had they put fountains everywhere?

A small smile quirks his mouth as he watches tourists turn their backs and toss coins into Trevi Fountain. Of course he knows the movie that made the famous fountain even more famous. He adores old black and white films and sometimes, in the winter, enjoys wearing a hat and raincoat, if only for the romance of it.

It's all fine in Rome. Give a shrug. They understand.

He's sitting at a small fountain in a quiet plaza when he's finally discovered.

Again.

How many times does he have to send word back that he's fine. Really. Truly!

Amanian Elves just can't believe he doesn't want to be home again, or out exploring the stars like Glorfindel and his pack of Elven swashbucklers (that's what he likes to call them - Elrond would arch one of those eyebrows and give him a _**look**_ if he knew).

"My lord."

Even after...how long? Hmm...several hundred years, perhaps. He knows the voice and smiles without turning from where he's watching a group of children play. "I haven't been a lord in well over four thousand years, Elemmakil."

The snort is eloquent. "Many more than that, and you will always be a lord to me, my lord."

He turns then, with a smile that lights his eyes. "You look well, my friend. Rome has brought some sun to your pale countenance."

Shaking his head at his lord's fancy, Elemmakil smiles. "That would be from Africa, my lord."

"Ah. Aren't the elephants magnificent?"

"Yes. The lions made me think of Lord Glorfindel."

Head back to smile at the sky, he laughs. "He would love to hear that."

"Doubtless, my lord."

Slanting a look sideways, he arches one eyebrow. "What or who has you hunting me down this time?"

"Friendship. Loyalty."

Ah. Goodness. What had he ever done to deserve such a friend as this? "You're a good man, Elemmakil. Better than I, by far."

"My Lord Ecthelion." Elemmakil shakes his head with a smile. "I knew to come to Rome first. The fountains have always drawn you."

"They sing so beautifully."

"Indeed. I have found you to ask a favor."

"Truly?" He sits up, attention caught now. Silver-blue eyes alight with curiosity, Ecthelion asks, "What would you ask of me?"

He holds out a hand and takes the hand of a young woman who has been standing where the fountain blocks her. "If you would sing at our wedding."

"Lisse?"

She laughs and as he stands, hugs him tightly. "Uncle! Neither of us could stand the thought of marrying without you present."

"You're marrying Elemmakil?" He blinks and stares, as stunned, then his smile is so beautiful a young woman walking past nearly falls into the fountain. "This is beyond wonderful! Of course I'll sing at your wedding!" He embraces them both, laughing and once they are able to stop beaming, Ecthelion sits again. "Where and when?"

Lisse grins and slants a look at Elemmakil. "Seeing that you love and know this city so well, we were hoping you could help us?"

As if he could refuse. As if he had ever been able to refuse this child. This young woman. "It will be the most beautiful wedding ever."

* * *

 _All errors are mine, mine, mine. For anyone reading, grazie mille! My Italian is bad. I blame Simone and Ivan. ;)  
_


	63. Chapter 63 Remembrance

**Prompt: Remembrance**

I added this prompt after seeing this picture on Tumblr. It told me it had to be written. It's on DeviantArt and is by HorheSoloma - Ecthelion-656164107 (I'd put a link but it won't allow it...bah). It's also on my Tumblr (levade).

* * *

Of course there is a fountain. A small one that sings a quiet, burbling song, almost like a hymn, and Ecthelion pauses to dip his hands in it, before bringing his hands to his face. The water is a benediction, a cool caress that calms the turmoil in his heart a bit.

His heart is pounding.

He had not expected anything. Certainly not a memorial. Who had done this? Most of the people of his house had died that night, or later, in the many griefs that had followed. His house had gone to battle playing flutes.

Ecthelion still cannot bear to hear flutes. Not yet.

Not yet.

He steps into the cool chamber, admiring the sparkling white marble walls and the stone tile floors. There is an inlet where white candles have been lit. A remembrance. Not for him, not just for him. For his people. His house. It is a Telerin custom, this remembrance, and so he walks softly, quietly forward and lights a taper from the candles, puts the flame to an unlit candle and drops the taper in the sand.

They had a cove like this in his house, both when he was growing up and his house in Gondolin.

Remembrance. The dead, the lost at sea, the prodigals yet to return. Never forgotten. The light of the candles burns to show the way home. To show the light of the heart still burns. Still hopes.

He hopes more have found their way home and passes his finger through the flames, just the smallest caress of heat, then steps away as memories come crowding forward.

no...

No.

Turning, he sees the stand and the sword and sheath and time stops for a moment. It cannot be his ( _melted, melded to his skin, to his hands, to the heat of the creature he has embraced..._ ).

No. It is a replica, a very good one and he takes a step closer to look at the blade.

But he does not reach out to hold it.

His hands ache with the memory of fire and flame, and he focuses on the runes etched into the metal. They are not the same as his, and he is thankful for that. It would be too much. Too real. Someone placed a Fëanorian lamp, its blue light a lovely counterpart to the gold of the candles, and he touches his hand ( _shaking, unscarred, unburned_ ) to his heart.

Then turns away.

A shaft of light has found the fountain, and it illuminates the water with a myriad of colors that reflect on the walls in a shifting pattern.

Ecthelion touches his hands to the water again, sending ripples through the fountain, and watches the light scatter through the room. That fountain, the great Fountain of the King, ( _deep, cold, sinking, the flame of the creature boiling the water, down...down to the dark bottom_ ) had been fouled by the Úmaiar. He steadies his will and watches the light.

There are voices outside, someone coming near, and he pulls his cloak hood deeper over his face, unwilling as yet to speak. His voice ( _shouting to be heard over the roar of creatures, the screams of friends, his people, gasping as the heat scorched his lungs_ ) is healed, they tell him this, but still. He has yet to speak.

A quick bow as he passes those coming in, and he pauses to listen to the song of the fountain mingling with their quiet voices. It is a lovely song, and he walks away with it playing in his mind.


	64. Chapter 64: Fickle

**Prompt: Fickle**

 _For my friends who served, came home and found home had not changed but they had, and life was never the same. You are brave beyond belief, and I respect and love you so much. Thank you is such a small thing to say, but I give it to you with all my heart. Thank you, and may you be blessed. Veteran's Day 2017_

* * *

Is fate fickle? It can seem that way, especially as I look towards the men riding home, so few, too few! Where is he? Here is my Ealdfrith?

I see only pity in the faces of those I know, when the last rider is past and all that is left is the wagons.

The wagons. No man of Rohan would ride in a wagon if he could sit a saddle! But there are more, many more wagons and I run from one to the next, searching for his face, his sandy hair that always stuck up a little in the front and the gap-toothed smile of his.

At the last, I find him and the breath goes out of me. His gaze meets mine and slips away, and I see his shame as clearly as if it were my own. He has only one leg and his right arm stops at the elbow, but blessed Lady, he is alive! I reach up as they help him down and tears fill my eyes as he flinches from me. "Oh, Ealdfrith, there is no shame in surviving! You are home and I am glad!" I say it fiercely, gripping his arm to make him look.

He hangs his head, avoiding my gaze. "How is a man to work the good soil and feed his family when he cannot even walk or dress himself?"

The tears I've been trying to hold back fall freely and I shake him so that he finally looks at me, startled. "You have me, don't you? Do you think I would rather you be dead than here with me?"

"Gleda." He swallows hard and shakes his head. "It was... What I have seen...I can never forget."

He has taken my arm and has a grip on it so strong I know it will leave bruises. I can feel his body trembling and I step forward to wrap my arms around his too-thin frame, to hold him and press my face into his neck. For a moment I think he will pull away, but with a choked noise, he wraps his arms around me, tight, too tight, and I know my Ealdfrith is home. Oh, it won't be easy, I know. The terror that lurks in his eyes is awful. But my man came home when so many others did not.

Fate can seem fickle, for I look around and see there are many men who cannot walk or have missing limbs. So few came home. It will a long time for our village to recover. But there is always hope so long as there is life.


	65. Chapter 65 Flaunting

"But Ilúvatar showed forth his power, and he changed the fashion of the world; and a great chasm opened in the sea between Númenor and the Deathless Lands, and the waters flowed down into it, and the noise and smoke of the cataracts went up to heaven, and the world was shaken. And all the fleets of the Númenóreans were drawn down into the abyss, and they were drowned and swallowed up for ever. But Ar-Pharazôn the King and the mortal warriors that had set foot upon the land of Aman were buried under falling hills: there it is said that they lie imprisoned in the Caves of the Forgotten, until the Last Battle and the Day of Doom."

 _Akallabêth, The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien  
_

* * *

 ** _Prompt: Flaunting_**

No one listens to me. Do you think I stand here and pronounce dooms for my own enjoyment? I weep for your stubborn, willful hearts because I know. I know what you will face when you flaunt your willful pride and press on.

Do you not know that I can look at you and see your death writ upon your very skin? Do you truly think I would not try to stop you from facing such a fate?

This is the two-sided blade of free will, my sweet ones. You may freely flaunt whatever you wish.

It does not stop what will come.

Even I cannot stop that.

Ask Ar _-_ Pharazôn, once a mortal king, who even now has a fool's immortality as he waits and waits in the Caves of the Forgotten for the Day of Doom. You were warned, proud one, warned of one thing you must not seek.

Yet you _would_ do it, would throw our warnings back in our faces.

And so there you wait in the darkness. I visit you sometimes, and you cower away, even now afraid of death that would end this endless, interminable nothingness of waiting. There is no comforting you. Your mind is foolish and blind, set on not seeing what brought you to this end.

It will be a long wait, my foolish one. I pity you, yes, but I also remember all the souls of the innocent children who flooded my halls that day when you _would_ do what you wanted, _as_ you wanted, because you would not be told no.

Children. Terrified, confused, wailing and weeping until I gathered them to me and sang them to sleep.

THAT is the result of your willful idiocy, Ar _-_ Pharazôn.

No. I will not forget.

But they are beyond all this now, happy and healthy in the presence of the One who loves them far more than any other.

So, come, foolish king. Come and sit with me. You have all the time you wished for now. Sit and tell me. Was it worth it?


	66. Chapter 66 Parlay

**Prompt: Parlay**

 _One meaning of parlay (aside from that used in pirate movies) is to turn an initial stake or winnings from a previous bet into (a greater amount) by gambling. I've always loved the idea of Biblo hanging about with all those elves, wreaking havoc on their calm and sensibilities. ;) My hope is to finish these remaining prompts (started in 2015) by the end of this year. Two years is plenty of time, sheesh!_

* * *

"He cheated."

One black eyebrow shot up in sharp amusement. "What did he win, Lindir?"

"It's not that, though..." With a long-suffering sigh, Lindir flipped silver hair over his shoulder. "HOW am I to come up with a song about Dwarves outsmarting trolls? I would hardly believe it had I not seen the boulders myself."

Lips curling in amusement, Erestor gave a shrug. "Ask him to gamble again. And this time, beat him."

"Oh." Pursing his lips a moment, Lindir suddenly laughed. "Grand idea, Erestor! I see now why you are Elrond's counselor."

Watching him saunter off, Erestor shook his head. "Musicians." He had little doubt of the outcome.

* * *

Two nights later, in the Hall of Fire, Glorfindel joined his friend who was chuckling, and sat across from him with an easy smile. "Who has done what now?"

Erestor nodded towards the cushions piled near the hearth where the heat of the fire was warmest. "Lindir has learned a lesson about gambling with hobbits."

"Ah."

Seeing the lack of comprehension, Erestor shook his head. "Just take my word for it. Never gamble with hobbits. They cheat."

"I thought that was only Gildor Inglorion."

"Oh no." Erestor smiled as he watched Bilbo laugh and point to the paper between himself and Lindir, who did not look pleased but wrote something anyways. "And especially do not gamble with that particular hobbit. I suspect he learned a few bad habits with that band of thieves he journeyed with."

"You mean Mithrandir?" Glorfindel winked at Erestor's eye-roll. "Bilbo was hired as their burglar, was he not?"

"Indeed, and subtle in ways that Lindir is only now beginning to understand."

"What was the bet, do you know?"

"Lindir has to help Bilbo write whatever songs he wishes, for one cycle of the moon."

Glorfindel winced. "I suspect we'll be hearing songs about things that have rarely been sung of in this hall."

With a soft laugh, Erestor stood. "I shall warn Elrond. Best beware yourself. Bilbo is fond of tales of heroes and daring do."

Shaking his head, Glorfindel sank deeper into his chair. "I believe it's time I rode out on a long patrol..."

* * *

 _Did you like it? I was thinking of how Bilbo sang that very inappropriate song about Eärendil in Elrond's own hall. XD No doubt it surprised more than one elf! I can imagine Elrond's eyebrow flying nearly off his face in surprise!_


	67. Chapter 67 Fell Creatures

**Prompt: Fell Creatures**

Inspired by this post on Tumblr: **writing-prompt-** _ **s**_ _For millennia dragons have raided and pillaged human villages for gold. Lately, however, they've heard of something called 'wages' where humans will just GIVE them gold for doing jobs._

* * *

It is a baby dragon, hardly larger than a draft horse, but it roams in the fields every day from sunrise to sunset, watching and waiting. The first crow to arrive in the field, curious and hungry, lands near the dragon and cocks an intelligent eye at the creature that most certainly was never, in the storied history of the B. Thornton Family, seen anywhere near a farm.

Little puffs come out of the baby dragon's nostrils as it sits up, all the better to see the crow, and it's eyes have a delighted (some might say manic) gleam. "You're a fine crow."

It's voice is not yet deep enough to command respect and the crow caw-caws a laugh. "Indeed I am!" Burgess ruffles his feathers and preens before looking at the baby dragon, who has somehow crept a bit closer without the crow noticing. "What are you doing in this field? I did not think dragons of any age liked wheat!"

Smiling a slightly gap-toothed grin (he was, after all, just a baby, and hardly any of his fine, sharp teeth had arrived as yet), the baby dragon sat up and tilted his head. "This!"

And he blew a short, sharp stream of sparks that spat against the crow's fine feathers.

Burgess cawed loudly in surprise and had to flap his wings against his fine black waistcoat to keep the feathers there, already smoldering, from bursting into flames. With an indignant look, he flew up, thinking to scold the baby dragon.

Here is what you must remember about all dragons, regardless of their size, and however innocent they look (if one ignores the malicious glint and not entirely innocent smiles): baby dragons are most certainly able to shoot fire. Not always on the first try, but most certainly by the second!

Alas, poor Burgess only discovered this as he disappeared in a flutter of smoking black feathers that scattered into the golden wheat.

The baby dragon chuckled, a cute sound if you don't mind the sound of nails on a blackboard, and took out a small tally sheet from between his scales. He carefully marked another "x" before tucking it away. His mother would be very happy with him when he brought home his gold coins for a good day's work! So much more fun than hiding away in a cave until some hapless Dwarf discovered his hidey hole!


	68. Chapter 68 Not all Tears Are An Evil

_Prompt: Gandalf said that not all tears are an evil. Let's go further and tell a story when the tears are needed - any of the male character who is not ashamed of showing his grief._

 _(see end notes - prompt from Arianka)_

* * *

How had it all come to this? How could it end this way? In all the scenarios Maglor had ever imagined, he could not have foreseen this; standing at the ocean, his hand throbbing in rejection as he watched the Silmaril sink beneath the waves.

It should not have ended this way. His heart was pounding, his head throbbing and he was so, so angry. At the Valar, at his father, at his brothers and most especially, at Maedhros.

At himself, for being unable to follow his brothers.

Were they truly in the everlasting darkness? Had the Oath proven true after all?

Damned words. Oh, they burned at him endlessly and he finally fell to his knees as the weight of his long years crashed upon him. He could leap into the sea, follow the last Silmaril beneath the waves...

But he had a feeling Ulmo would spat him back up on the shore.

Maglor curled in on himself and rocked, wishing the blazing anger he had felt after Maedhros had leaped into the chasm of fire would return. Anything was better than the bitter cold that howled in his heart and mind.

Anything was better than this crushing loneliness.

Rearing up, he flung his hands up and screamed at the stars, screamed until his throat was raw and his eyes were burning.

No one heard. No one came to him.

No one ever would. Was this really what his father had envisioned for him all those eons ago when, eyes glittering in the torch light, he had spoken the words of the Oath? Had he ever thought that far ahead in his grief, to see one of his sons, utterly alone and bereft?

He cried then, heaving sobs that racked his body, left him weak and cold, empty of thought and feeling. For the family he would never again see; his wife, his mother. For the home he had left and all of those brave, bright souls who had followed and hoped they might avenge the death of their king and forge new homes in the lands of their forefathers.

Maglor lay empty and cold, listless eyes gazing out at the sea. The endless darkness might be kinder than this. Hot, silent tears slid down his cheeks, across his nose, to drip on the cold rock as he called to mind the faces of his brothers. Celegorm, always dragging home some injured animal to tend, infinitely patient with the frightened creature. Caranthir, sometimes surly and quick with a barbed answer, but always ready to defend his brothers. Curufin, so alike their father that sometimes it had hurt to look at him, flushed and laughing as he showed his brothers some new invention. Ambarussa, still so young and curious about everything, and so alike that sometimes they even fooled their brothers.

Maedhros. His beautiful, brilliant brother who had always been there. The Oath had eaten at his soul, ripping out everything bright and bold until he was but a bitter shell of the man he had been.

Maglor pushed himself upright and to his feet with a shaking arm. He stood staring out at the sea as if he could see all the way home.

He wasn't ready to die yet. Not while the memory of his brothers lived on in him. Wiping his face with his sleeve, Maglor turned and began to walk.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _this challenge came from Arianka, and I don't think this really filled it very well, but after weeks of being sick, it was all my muddled brain would come up with. Apologies for such a depressing topic! Hope your 2018 is off to a good start. :)_


	69. Chapter 69 The Lion and the Mouse

Prompt: The Lion and the Mouse

 _This should probably be considered self-indulgent nonsense of the highest order. But when you're in a dry spell and suddenly you get an idea, even a cracked one? You go with it. Even if you're not really proud of it. I'm off to hide now. AU of my AU. Does that make it an AU²? And oh, it's far, FAR too long to be a drabble!_

* * *

 ** _First Age, Beleriand_**

They had come upon the scene entirely by accident, or so it seemed at first. Riding down the shore one night, making sure the coastline was safe for any travellers making the journey from the Falas to Vinyamar, they had heard a commotion and rode hard to find a group of Falathrim fighting for their lives. The Orcs were better armed with curving, wicked swords, and dark knives, and already there were seven elves bleeding in the surf. With a cry of rage, the Noldor rode into the fray, gleaming swords making short work of the Orcs.

But it was clear they were too late for most of the elves. One woman sat on the shore, blood from a cut on her head soaking her light blond hair and cloak, and just stared at them when they spoke to her. Another woman, sat in the surf, holding a man who looked so alike to her he must be a relative. She was keening and crying, arms wrapped around him as the waves gently rolled up to rock them.

Glorfindel shook his head as Ecthelion knelt in the sand, ignoring the lapping waves, and spoke to her. What were they doing out so far from the Falas at night? Orcs might not like the sea, but they never hesitated to hide in the tall sea grass of the dunes and attack the unwary. He didn't understand what Ecthelion was saying, Glorfindel had never had any reason to learn Telerin, but he sighed and went over to help him get the girl to stand as they pulled the body of the man up on the shore, out of the waves.

"You must come with us. It is not safe here." Removing his cloak, Ecthelion draped it over the body of the man, covering his sightless eyes staring up at the stars.

Trembling, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, the girl shook her head and spoke so softly the waves almost drowned out her words. "We cannot. We must return home to bury my brother."

"It is not safe," Ecthelion repeated, and gestured to the other woman, clearly in shock, who could not even stand. "You must come with us."

"To where? And what would become of my father when we do not come home?" She shook her head, brown hair wrapping around her neck and shoulders as the wind gusted off the sea. "Thank you for your help but-"

"We are not leaving you here." Glorfindel stepped in and fixed his gaze on her, frowning as she winced and looked away. Damn the Darkness! Did it never leave the innocent alone in these cursed lands? How had these gentle people survived so long in such a dangerous place? "Get the wounded up and on horses, Girlach. They are coming with us."

"You cannot make us-"

"I can and I am." He was tired of seeing people die. Tired of coming across entire villages where Orcs had wiped out every elf, leaving the buildings ash and rubble. Every time they went out on patrol they found yet another atrocity of Melkor, another stain upon the land. Taking hold of her arm, he marched her over to one of his men and handed her over. "She will ride with you."

She pulled against the hand holding her and glared at Glorfindel. "We lived here for ages untold before your people arrived. In the starlight, before the coming of your lights. What right do you have-"

None. He had no right to make them come with him. Then again, he wasn't about to see two elves, one of them badly wounded, try to make their way back to wherever their home was and tend to the bodies. His grandmother would tear a strip of flesh off his back for being so high-handed, but Glorfindel set his will and held her gaze. "Bury the dead. We need to move on."

He walked away then, closing his ears to the girl's words.

Ecthelion followed him. "We really have no right to do this, you know."

"What would you have me do, Ecthelion?" Glorfindel rounded on him, letting his anger and frustration bleed into his tone. "Leave them here, one elf wounded, seven dead and let that girl take care of them all?"

"That _girl_ ," Ecthelion mimicked his Vanyarin accent, "is old enough to remember the days before the sun. Why can we not take her and the wounded woman back to their village? It cannot be far."

"And then what? Leave them to be wiped out like all the others we have seen?"

A sigh, and Ecthelion took his arm, leading him away from the others. "Laurë, you cannot save everyone, nor can we take their freedom from them. This is what Turukáno is doing, asking us all to leave the home we love to go to that city of stone in the mountains where we shall never see our friends and family again. It is what the Valar did, telling us if we left we would be exiled and doomed. They wanted to keep us _safe_." The word was said with a grimace. " Turukáno wants to keep us safe." He released his friend, and shook his head. "Would you dictate your will to these people as well?"

"They will die, Ecthelion."

"Perhaps." Pushing a black braid out of his face, Ecthelion sighed. "But that is up to them, Laurë. It is how they choose to live. Taking that choice from them is unfair, and not worthy of you. You are a better man than this."

Glorfindel grimaced and looked towards the sea, towards the lands he knew were there, just beyond his reach. Home. His parents and brother and sister. Their families. Sometimes he missed the hills and valleys of his home so much that he awoke from his dreams and rose from his bed to walk the city, unable to sleep. Unable to bear the thought of maybe never seeing them again.

All because they had wanted to return to the lands of their forefathers. Oh, yes, it had been a hasty, angry decision, done poorly, but the Valar had reacted just as poorly, and punished them for their choice.

Turning, he strode back to his men, to the girl. "We cannot leave you here alone with a wounded companion, and your dead. Let us help you take them back to your village and then we will leave."

She looked at him in surprise, gaze going to Ecthelion who offered a wry smile and a quiet comment in Telerin. A nod, and she turned her attention to Glorfindel. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me. It is no favor we do here." He turned away and gestured for his men to follow, removing his cloak as he walked to bend and place it over one of the dead.

Would there ever be an end to the Darkness that forever seemed to bend its will upon this land?

Glorfindel had little hope.

* * *

 ** _Second Age, Somewhere not too far from Lindon_**

It had been the sudden explosion of a pheasant from a thicket that had done it. His horse had shot into the air, back hunched, head down, all four hooves off the ground, and come down only to blow right back up, twisting and kicking as if the biggest, baddest wolf of the entire course of creation was nipping at its hocks. There was no controlling it, no reason, it was suddenly only a herd animal scared out of its ever-loving mind and bent on only escape.

He'd stuck longer than he'd expected.

Then the tree limb had intervened and that had ended Glorfindel's wild ride.

He lay flat on his back, trying to remember how to breathe and only belatedly realized the strange noise was coming from him. It was an odd noise somewhere between a groan and a wheeze. Just when he was certain he was going to die because his lungs couldn't seem to remember to work, he gasped and sucked in a painful breath.

Pain lanced down his back and shot to his head and he clenched his teeth, swallowing hard to keep the bile down.

Blast the horse! Hopefully it would regain its mind and run home. That would cause a stir, but then how would anyone know where to find him? He'd told no one that he was going for a ride.

He truly hoped that pheasant ended up on someone's dinner table. Or maybe in the belly of a starving wolf.

Middle-earth was proving no safer this time around that his previous life. At least no warg or Orc had come to feast on him as he was sprawled on the ground, waiting for his lungs to behave!

Ah, but the day was young yet, fog barely beginning to clear from the coast. Glorfindel mentally snorted at his dark humor. Elrond would not appreciate it. His humor was rapidly fading as the days darkened and the King refused to send help to see what was going on in Ost-in-Edhil. Damn the proud necks of the Noldor!

Now Glorfindel did laugh, a weak sound that made his head ache but cheered him; his lungs were going to let him live after all! It would be grand if the rest of his body would also cooperate, but the pounding in his head and the ache in his back told him it likely would be better to wait a bit.

Then he heard the quiet clop of a horses' hooves, and took a stuttering breath before attempting to sit up. Pain burned an agonizing path up his spine, shooting like lances into his head and he felt his breakfast rising. There was no fighting it, his stomach rebelled, but his attempt to roll to his side was quickly aborted as pain washed over him and the world rolled wildly.

He heard someone running and felt cool hands on his forehead for a moment, before whoever it was took his shoulders and turned him. Bile and his breakfast were making a second appearance, and he coughed, gagging as it burned.

"Shhh, easy. You breathed in some of that, and that is not good."

A hand rubbed his back as he fought to breathe, the pain washing his vision into a fuzzy grey.

He struggled to speak, but the grey was darkening to black. Glorfindel's eyes rolled back and the world fell away.

He was awake, but not where he had fallen for ground was not so soft as whatever was underneath him. Where then? The lingering sense of pain in his head told him he at least was not in the care of Námo. That was a relief.

Slowly opening his eyes, he blinked the world into focus and frowned. The pattern of beams and wood were definitely not the ridiculously decorated ceilings of his rooms. Gil-galad's builders had been drinking, or so Glorfindel thought, when they had painted silly chubby toddlers with wings and tiny bow and arrows, surrounded by fat, fluffy clouds and gloriously blue skies. No, this was far too simple for any room in the Noldorin High King's palace.

"I see you finally awakened."

He slowly turned his head to see who was speaking and, just for a moment, felt as though he was two beings, split between the past and the present. His mind struggled to anchor itself as time slipped backwards and forwards, former life to present, before wobbling to a staggering halt. Glorfindel blinked several times before sighing. "I will take your word for it."

She sat next to the bed, gaze going over his face as if assessing how he felt. "How is your head feeling?"

"Less likely to shatter at any moment."

The smile curled one corner of her mouth. "That's a good beginning."

Was that a dimple? Had it been there before? He couldn't remember, but then she hadn't smiled then, had she? "You were blazingly furious last time."

"So it truly is you."

Glorfindel opened his eyes again, curious to see what she felt about that. She looked perplexed.

"I thought the arrogant fëa was familiar, but then you weren't trying to dictate what I should do, so I wasn't certain."

He offered a wry smile. "Námo's halls have a curious way of stealing the arrogance out of even the most proud."

"It's true then." She shook her head. "The dead do return from the Halls."

Was he the only elf so far who had come back to Middle-earth? They had told him it was so, but his unquestioning trust in the Powers had been shaken badly by... Well. All of the First Age. All the horrors and the battles and the death of so many elves and men. Oh, Gondolin falling had been no great surprise. After all, Tuor had warned them.

They had been the ones who ignored Ulmo's warning. Proud and hard were the heads of the Noldor. He knew it all too well.

"Yes. Eventually." Glorfindel closed his eyes. "Usually." He sighed. "It is complicated." He heard a puff of air that could be a quiet laugh or a small huff of impatience. "I take it you found me."

"Sprawled on the ground, looking as if an Ent backhanded you?" This time the quiet laugh was definitely there. "Yes. Do you always test the strength of branches with your head?"

"No." He pursed his lips, wondering if the horse had made its way home and if the pheasant had met a fitting end in some predator's belly. "Only when malicious fowl feel the need to frighten witless horses."

"That was what Lord Elrond guessed."

That opened his eyes. "Truly?" Elrond was gifted in many things, but to See such an insignificant event? Or perhaps the Valar, in a fit of whimsy, decided to gift it to his friend, as a way to counteract any lingering awe anyone felt towards the elf returned to Middle-earth. Not that the particular malady had affected Elrond. It seemed confined to Gil-galad and his Court, thankfully.

The dimple made another appearance. "There were pheasant feathers not far from where you fell."

Ah! Well then, perhaps the witless fowl had only been trying to escape its own demise when it frightened his horse. Glorfindel still did not feel badly for the bird.

"Elrond has been here."

"Yes."

Not the talkative type. He liked that about the Teleri. They weren't given to spouting their opinions. It seemed to be more a habit of the Noldor and Vanyar. "And where, exactly, is here?" He opened his eyes again, searching for a window, and seeing only trees, swaying gently in a breeze. But there was the tang of the sea in the air that told him they were likely in the woods just outside of Lindon that ran along the long stretch of dunes and coast.

"My home." She met his gaze when he looked at her. "I found you not far from here. You were too hurt to be carried far."

"You carried me?" Of course women were as strong as men, but Glorfindel was Noldorin and Vanyarin, taller and broader about the shoulders than most Elves not born in Aman. "That could not have been an easy task."

"My horse didn't complain." Leaning forward, she plucked a length of his hair off the bedding and held it up. "She did take a fancy to your hair."

"Not the first time a horse has thought it something tasty." He eyed the hairs which did look a bit more frayed than the rest. "My thanks for your rescue."

Sitting back, she shrugged. "Just paying the favor back."

He smiled, and held her gaze a little longer than was truly held to be decorous by the dames of Court. "I never did learn your name."

"And all I know of yours is Glorfindel of Gondolin." One brown eyebrow arched above grey eyes. "Your friend called you Laurë."

"Who? Oh, Ecthelion." His smile faded a bit. "He was a good friend. Gave me a raking over about trying to dictate to you."

She stood and shook out her skirts. Her gown was a simple dark blue, with nothing frilly or frivolous about it. Brown hair was braided back and her hands looked nothing like those of the pampered women of court. There was a familiar look in her eyes - one that he saw in those who had survived the worst times of the First Age. "Lord Elrond will be here later today to fetch you back to Lindon."

"And what of you." There were stains on her hands that he had seen often on Elrond's. Those gained from working with herbs and plants. "What did Elrond have to say to you?"

She shook her head. "What would he say to me but thanks for finding and tending to his friend." A shrug and she turned.

Glorfindel reached out and caught her hand. "You're a healer. He is always curious about teas and such that others use. Elrond is endlessly curious, or did you miss that about him?"

Looking at his hand, holding hers, she nodded. "He asked many questions."

"Talented healers are needed." He let go her hand as the thoughts of what his cousin, Galadriel, and her husband, Celeborn might even now be facing. And Celebrimbor... He had met him several times and had liked the quick wit of the man. There was no elf alive with his talent for the forge, but that might yet lead to trouble.

Must history always circle back to teach the same lesson time and time again?

"The days are growing darker." He looked to her again.

"Yes." Tilting her head, she frowned at him. "We did discuss that. I have not made a decision yet. The thought of leaving the quiet woods for a Noldorin Court do little to entice me."

He smiled then, feeling joy bubble forth like sunshine, unasked for. "There are other things than the Noldorin Court in Lindon."

Her gaze held his and for a moment time slipped again, and the everything titled before settling gently, softly back into place.

A nod and she walked to the door before turning. "Bronwë. My name is Bronwë."

Glorfindel smiled. The world suddenly did not seem so dark and hopeless.


	70. Chapter 70 Prompt: Murderer

Prompt: Murderer

* * *

"Murderers!"

She flung the word at him as if it were a weapon and he ducked, so strong was the emotion behind the insult. Then he straightened to his full height and leveled his grim frown upon her. "Give us the Silmaril and we will leave you. I sent you a warning-"

She spat on his boots and took another step back, closer to the drop behind her, the precarious cliff face crumbling even under her slight weight. The Silmaril glowed and pulsed brighter and brighter as if responding to her defiance. Slight woman, dark hair wrapping around her like a shawl as the winds gusted against her from the sea. The waves were tossing like a restless horse, foaming and dashing against the base of the cliff.

"You have nowhere to run."

"I will not run. Not now." Elwing lifted her chin, and met their fey gazes. "You will never have it."

"You could ransom your children for it." Maglor spread his hands, desperate in that moment to both possess the jewel and not see the last remnant of Doriath ruined. The Oath was screaming in his mind and he shook his head. "Do not deny us!" Not a plea, it was too rough, too full of lust for the jewel to be a plea.

"My children." Her voice trembled and she shook her head. "We are all dead!"

Then she stepped back.

Maglor reached for her even as Maedhros lunged forward, but there was nothing of which to take hold.

No jewel.

Nothing.

Maedhros clenched his hand around his sword and swore viciously as a pillar of water surged up in a towering form from the sea, sending water and kelp showering down as Ulmo caught Elwing in his giant hands. A moment, a heartbeat, one, two and then he tossed a white bird from his hands, and upon its breast the Silmaril beamed a brilliant light.

Maglor stared at the form of Ulmo as it crashed back down against the rocks, leaving naught but water, foam and kelp. The Valar were ever against them. They had been so close this time. "It is lost," Maglor murmured and let his sword fall.

Jaw working, Maedhros finally let out a long breath. When he turned he was calmer. "There are two others." Sheathing his sword, Maedhros looked at his brother and wondered if he looked as gaunt and weary. They were the last of the seven sons of Fëanor and the Oath bit hard upon their heels. "Come, brother. Elwing is out of our reach, but we cannot leave her children alone to wander."

Murderer. The word burned at his heart, but he hardened his will and walked back towards the town, his last brother at his side.


	71. Chapter 71 Prompt: Metal

**Prompt: Metal**

* * *

 _Somewhere deep in the fastness of Mandos._

"What I wouldn't give for just one more touch."

"One last caress."

"The scent as heat rises."

"The look as she lies there, cooling. Ready for your next touch."

Fëanor, Maeglin and Eöl all sigh, and look away.

Nearby, Námo shakes his head, amused, and a Maia guard looks askance at him. "I thought Maeglin was not married. His cousin refused his affections."

"You think they mean their lost mates?" Námo laughs and the sound shivers through the halls like a frigid wind through the quaking leaves. "They're talking about metal."


	72. Chapter 72 The Trouble With Balrogs

**Prompt: The Trouble With Balrogs**

 _This is just kind of cracky. Oh well. :p_

* * *

"It was one."

One black eyebrow arched sharply over a silver-blue eye that cast a skeptical look upon the speaker. Ecthelion turned to Glorfindel. "I'm sorry, did I miss seeing him there? I was a bit busy at the time."

"Mm." Pursing his lips, Glorfindel thought for a moment. "I recall Tuor and Egalmoth, and a great many dead elves." He turned to the one who had made the statement. "No. He was not there."

"And where were you?" Though his tone was polite, there was no doubt Ecthelion was calling for cards to be laid on the table.

Waving an ink-stained hand, the elf shook his head. "We have the records from those who survived."

Glorfindel snorted. "And here I thought I saw the entire thing."

"You must be mistaken. Head wound or some such thing."

"Doubtless." Glorfindel shrugged and turned a deceptively lazy gaze upon the scribe. "Whose account do you reference?"

The scribe shuffled his parchment. "Pengolodh, of course, and Lord Salgant."

Nodding, Glorfindel turned to his friend. "It's clear you were wounded and badly mistaken, Ecthelion." He put a solicitous hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps you took a knock to the head."

"And saw four balrogs instead of one."

"Very likely."

The scribe's face was flushing a very unbecoming shade of red as he sputtered, "Lord Salgant clearly recorded that it was sheer fortune that had Gothmog fall at the same time you did." He cleared his throat as Ecthelion again arched one dubious eyebrow. "My lord."

With a shrug, Ecthelion stood. "Very well."

"You're not letting this go!"

With a charming smile, Ecthelion took hold of the scribe's elbow. "Come along. We're going to settle this once and for all."

"How?" Realizing that protesting would likely get him dragged along, the scribe hurried to keep up with the taller man's stride.

"By asking Lord Námo, of course." Ecthelion stopped and smiled. "You do believe him to be a fair judge of events, yes?"

"Or Vaire." Glorfindel nodded. "She could show him the tapestry."

The smile was grim, but Ecthelion nodded. "You could see for yourself if it was one or four balrogs in the battle."

"Oh..." Digging in his heels, the scribe shook his head. "I'm sure they're far too busy to answer such a trivial matter."

"Trivial?" Glorfindel grabbed the scribe's elbow and pulled him along, ignoring his protestations.

* * *

"It keeps changing." Squinting as the woven tale of the fall of Gondolin shifted from one scene with four balrogs dying at the hands of Ecthelion to a similar one where he faced off with only Gothmog, Ecthelion turned to Vaire. "I don't understand."

"It's a bit tricky when the editing and string theory get all complicated." Vaire sighed. "You see, while you recall one event, there are actually two possible outcomes to the tale." She smiled. "Sometimes a great many more!"

"Two... possible..." Glorfindel blinked once, trying to absorb the statement. He cleared his throat. "My Lady Vaire, I truly fail to see how one battle could result in two outcomes? It's either one or the other."

Vaire beamed at them. "Linear thinking is so adorable!" As all three elves stared, she sighed. "I apologize. Sometimes I forget that ...well, never mind. Let's see, how to explain this..."

* * *

Ecthelion and Glorfindel sat with the scribe, all three silent, staring at the clouds racing across the evening sky. "Do you think... possibly..."

"Spit it out, Ecthelion." Glorfindel huffed a long breath and shook his head. "And don't be polite."

A shrug, and Ecthelion said, "This is all some tale told by a bard in some distant land, and the reason there are two versions of what you and I recall is ..." He grimaced. "He was editing?"

"She did mention editing." The scribe fell silent as both of the Elf Lord's gazes fell on him.

"We're just characters."

Ecthelion rubbed his neck. "Perhaps?"

With a snort, Glorfindel pulled his friend to his feet. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Hurrying to keep from being dragged, Ecthelion pulled his arm free. "Glorfindel, where are we going?"

"To see Círdan. And Eärendil." Glorfindel scowled at the night sky. "I'd go question Fëanor himself if Námo would allow it."

"For what?"

He'd never been one to let the seemingly impossible stop him. Never. "To find out how to get back to Middle-earth. I can't live here and listen to more of this inane insanity of editing and characters in a tale and -" He flung out a hand. "They've made the trip a thousand times and more! If anyone can get back it will be one of those two."

"And then what, fade?"

"It's a magical world, Ecthelion, old friend..." The smile was bright and joyful. "Let's go exploring!"*

* * *

* _did you catch that ref? ;D Let me know if you did!_


	73. Chapter 73 Threads

_My apologies for not answering PMs and comments - you are all AMAZING and WONDERFUL and I am perpetually behind! Thank you for your words and for reading! I wish you knew how you make me smile with each one! :D  
_

 _Today is Everleigh Bain's birthday and I wish I had something more Ranger'ish or with Halbarad or Aragron, but alas. Glorfindel was the only voice that spoke up. Happy Birthday, Ev! Thank you for being a beautiful person whom I am blessed to know! May you have many, many more years!_

 _ **Prompt: How do you pick up the threads of an old life?**_

* * *

The language had changed, of course it had. Even in Aman the language was not what it had been before he had walked away, the Doom echoing in his ears. In Middle-earth it had mingled with Sindarin and other languages, pilfering words here and there and becoming its own, unique language.

He felt ancient for the first time in his lives. Ancient as he never had in Aman where some of the Awakened even now lingered in Lorien's gardens and the ageless Valar walked the land. His body was stronger than it had ever been, even in Gondolin, facing down the wolves, dragons and the balrog. His mind was keen and sharp, and a power was his to call forth that had never been, not even in the mountains of his father's people.

Glorfindel laughed more and a twinkle lived in his gaze along with the light of the Trees that gave people pause, made them look twice.

But his old life, his friends, his people, his king, the very lands, were gone; under the depths of the sea, across the sea or in the fastness of Mandos.

There was no old life to return to. It was, as Finrod had told him, a chance to be who he wanted, free of family intrigues, politics and traditions far older than the sun and moon.

But loyalty. That had proven stronger even than death. Oaths, once sworn, were not so easy to forsake, and he had known as soon as he met Elrond Eärendilion, that his fate would be bound once again to the line of Finwë.

Not that Elrond had been keen on the idea.

Glorfindel was, if nothing else, persuasive and stubborn, graced with a steadfast nature that would make water wearing down rocks seem a quick process.

In time Elrond had accepted the presence of one who seemed determined to make up for all of those he had lost. Neither of them believed it to be possible, but Glorfindel delighted in proving the word impossible wrong.

* * *

Centuries later, standing on a trail that descended into Imladris, Elrond, looking down on the waterfalls and graceful buildings, so beautiful and unsullied after all the death and horror of war, had smiled. "I never thought to find a true home, you know. Not in a location. A place."

Glorfindel nodded, well aware of how cynical his friend could be. Who could blame him after all he had lived through?

"Can a person truly be content in one place?"

There was a wistful quality in his voice that belonged to someone much younger. Someone far more innocent. Someone who still trusted, still hoped for all that was worth fighting for and saving. Seeing the glint of silver hair on a balcony far below, Glorfindel smiled. "With the right person, most definitely." He nudged his companion and pointed to the graceful figure, eagerly watching for the return of one particular person. "There is your contentment, my lord."

Wincing as Elrond almost fell off his horse in eagerness to get down the trail and greet Celebrían, Glorfindel followed at a more sedate pace, the better to arrive after the pair of would-be lovers had reunited. He would do what he could to distract Galadriel, though she might be equally caught up with Celeborn's return. There would be laments to sing for the lost, not the least of those a king of Elves and a king of Men, but they all looked forward to a time of peace and new beginnings.

Middle-earth was dangerous and fraught with trouble in a way that Aman never would be, but Glorfindel had no regrets for returning. He much preferred the challenge of this life, even though he had forsaken the familiarity of family and friends for the unknown.

Hearing laughter and joyful voices, Glorfindel smiled and nudged his horse forward to greet the future.


End file.
